Lament of the Wolf
by Warpath Grizzly
Summary: For centuries, Matthew has been harbouring a dangerous secret, one that has almost gotten him killed in the past. Arthur on the other hand has been harbouring dangerous intentions after making that vow so long ago. What happens when the two clash?
1. Promise

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Prologue: Promise

"Matthew!"

If he hadn't been running before, Arthur was certainly running now. He had been scouring the forest for almost an hour now with naught but a lit torch and the faint light of the waxing moon whose beams barely shone through the tangle of bare branches overhead. It was a cold night, as December nights tended to be this far up north. But Arthur had paid no mind to these things, or the thin sheet of snow that clung to his boots in clumps. All that mattered was getting Matthew away from those beasts.

"Stay calm, Matthew, I'm coming!"

Matthew, who had been preoccupied with scratching behind Birch's ear, looked up upon hearing his new colonizer's voice. Fear ran through him, as it did for the owners of all the other sets of eyes fixed upon the European nation running towards them. Their collective growls, minus a still stunned Matthew, made the very air around them tremble.

Brandishing the torch as a weapon, Arthur swung it in front of himself to get the first line of wolves to dash away, allowing him to grab Matthew's wrist and pull the boy beside him protectively. The wolves simply stared at the pair, hair raised. They knew there was little they could do against the nation without resulting in heavy losses for the pack. Still, pack protected pack, and Matthew knew they wouldn't leave unless they knew he was absolutely safe.

But he didn't want them to leave.

"England, let go!"

Try as he might, Matthew couldn't get his elder to release him. That didn't mean he made it easier for the older man to drag him away.

"Let go? They'll kill you, Matthew!"

"No they won't. They're my brothers and sisters, and family doesn't hurt each other. Lâche-moi!"

Arthur had to wonder whether or not the boy had fallen and hit his head. Nothing else could explain such gibberish.

"Man-eating monsters are _not_ family, Matthew. These are dangerous beasts. Now come along!"

But Matthew continued to struggle. Until a thought popped into his head.

"If I go with you, will you promise not to hurt them?"

"Matthew, they are killers. They might harm the towns-"

"Promets-moi! Promise you won't hunt them down!"

Arthur let his gaze slide briefly from the wolves to the boy. His face was absolutely serious, an odd look for a boy of nine. Though, of course, only his body looked to be nine years of age. The boy had been around for much longer, though by nation standards he was still quite young. Too young, apparently, if he was going to go gallivanting around in the wild at night without a care in the world for his safety. The frog hadn't done a very good job of breaking his spirit.

"Alright, I promise that the wolves will not be harmed. Now will you stop struggling?"

Matthew complied. Looking to the wolves, he simply nodded to them as England started to drag him away. The pack understood, and, silently, they slipped into the darkness of the forest once more, disappearing like ghosts. Matthew could but look on, desiring nothing but to able to run with them, to run far away from what his life had become.

-{ * }-

Lâche-moi – Let go (of me)

Promets-moi – Promise me


	2. Freedom

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter One: Freedom

"How long are ya gonna keep this up, Matt?"

Matthew paused from untying his shoelaces before giving a sigh and continuing his work. Kuma merely flicked his fluffy ear at the commotion that was keeping him from blessed sleep.

"Al, we've already been over this," he replied, not once looking up at his older brother.

America, for his part, continued to scowl from his post. He had chosen to lean against the door he had closed, and hadn't moved or said anything since entering the room. Matthew didn't need to look at him to tell he was upset. It was the same as last time.

"Well, apparently we haven't been over it enough 'cause you're still doing this shit. You're not just a territory anymore, you're a colony. It's time you start acting your age."

"You sound just like him, you know. You're a lot more like England than you think, Alfred," Matthew threw back at him, though his words lacked any real venom. He was much too excited to be angry. Pushing his shoes under the bed, Matthew did likewise to his socks, still refusing to meet his brother's gaze.

Alfred, on the other hand, was furious.

"I am _nothing_ like that limey bastard!" Al declared, nearly punching a hole in the wall to accent his point. He had to consciously remember to reign in his strength nowadays. In just a decade, he had gone from pre-teen to teen, remarkably fast by nation standards. Matthew, on the other hand, only looked to be around eleven years old. Both boys were generally treated by Arthur as if they were still only a century old.

Standing up, Matthew began to unbutton his shirt, throwing it on the bed when he was done. His back remained turned to Alfred as he went through his stretches. Slightly put off and worried by his younger brother's lack of concern (despite the fact that he knew what caused it), America walked to the other side of the room to kneel in front of Matthew with his hands on the younger's shoulders. Though the two had locked eyes, Alfred could tell that part of Matthew was already somewhere else far, far away.

"Matt, there are other ways of gaining freedom, you know. We could be free all the time, together, if you leave with me when the time comes."

This seemed to shake the younger boy out of his reverie. "Not all of us require rebellions, chaos, and bloodshed to be free, Alfred. I thought you of all people would understand that." Shirking out of the American's grasp, he walked over to the window and opened it, breathing in the crisp night air that spilled inside.

"Remember to keep the window unlocked," he half-asked, half-commanded his brother as he looked at the taller blond over his shoulder.

"Just be back before bedtime," the other replied reluctantly, realizing that this argument was lost. Smiling broadly, Matthew hoisted himself onto the windowsill, preparing himself for the jump to the nearby tree branch.

Shaking his head, America couldn't help but smile. He could feel the wind calling him, too, but it was no longer his time to go running into the wilds. Perhaps he had grown up too much.

"I pray that the north wind may speed you on your journey, brother," he mumbled under his breath as he watched the younger blond jump from window to tree, and until he climbed out of sight. Closing the window but leaving a small gap open, Al left the room to go distract his most-hated colonizer. And leave the poor bear curled up on the bed to get some rest.

Two storeys below, Matthew's feet hit the grass covered ground, relishing the feel of the cool blades under the soles of his feet. Unfortunately, the moment was short lived as he was just as quickly breaking into a run. The house they lived in stood on the outskirts of the town, so Matthew had no problems reaching the surrounding woods.

He stopped only for a moment, just within the borders of the forest, to look at the quaint Virginia house and mutter, "Just as I send the moon's protection to you, brother." A second later and he was just another ghost of the forest.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the living room downstairs, sat Arthur in his favourite armchair. He was enjoying this particular cup of tea, a relief after a long day of keeping rebellion at bay. The rebels were becoming bolder in their resistance; he had little doubt it would come to a show of force soon.

But until then it was just him, his chair, the tea, and the fire roaring in the hearth. Of course, uninvited guests often found their way to parties, and the current of wind that made its way into the room through the open window was just one such unwanted guest. Grumbling, Arthur got up and stepped none too lightly up to the window and closed it. Glancing outside the window for the briefest moment, Arthur saw the last thing he wanted to see prowling around his house at this hour.

The flash of white from the corner of his eye is what had first caught his attention. As he looked more closely, the white spot became a wolf, a lone pure white wolf, running just along the border where forest became cleared land. How _dare_ those beasts tread on his land! He hadn't seen a wolf since leaving Québec with Matthew, and had much preferred it that way.

He had made up his mind to go ready his hunting rifle when a certain American drew his gaze from the window.

"Whatchya lookin' at, Arthur? Maid's too busy fucking the stable boy over you, so you've made it your past time to pine over your lost love while staring absently out of windows?"

So much for a nice, relaxing night by himself. "Alfred, that is the most eloquent I've heard you speak since you stopped speaking English and started speaking Idiot. And I do not pine over commoners."

"That doesn't change the fact that she's still not sleeping with _you_ right now."

Shooting the young upstart a venomous glare, England turned his attention back to the window, but the wolf was gone. Great, now he would have to spend extra time tracking to see which direction it had gone in.

"For your information, Alfred," Arthur began, walking towards the room's exit where the American was lazily leaning against the door frame. "I've spotted a wolf, and I do fancy a bit of target practice at the moment."

"A wolf?" For second, Arthur thought he caught a note of panic in Alfred's voice. "Hahaha! You're even more senile than I thought you were, England! There hasn't been a wolf in these parts for years. You must be seeing things."

Grabbing the Brit as he tried to walk past, Alfred slung his arm around the other's shoulders and steered them both towards the dining room. He was particularly pleased to note that he was actually slightly taller than the Englishman now, much to said Englishman's annoyance.

"How's about we forget about your crazy talk for now and have us a nice chat about taxes?"

At least for the moment all thoughts of wolves disappeared.

-{ * }-

Notes

1763-1773: This section takes place somewhere between these years. 1763 is the year of the signing of the Treaty of Paris, which gave New France over to the British Empire. 1773 is the year things REALLY started getting heated between the Thirteen Colonies and the British Empire. These years would have been the only America and Canada ever lived under the same British roof.

A Note From Blaklite: Worth continuing? Review and let me know. Also, chapter lengths will probably fluctuate, so don't be surprised if a new chapter is twice the length (or half the length even) of the one before it.


	3. Inheritance

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Two: Inheritance

In 1773, Alfred moved out against Arthur's wishes. Two years later, war was declared.

Matthew remembered that April day very well. Arthur had been summoned by some general or other the day before. He hadn't returned until the next night, his panic masked poorly by anger. He had ordered the household to pack only what was necessary, and load the coach. In minutes, they were off, though only Matthew's Québécoise governess, and Kumajirou, of course, accompanied them as they raced north, Arthur pushing the horses as fast as they could go without injury.

"J'ai peur, Geneviève…" he remembered telling her. She had been his governess for nearly her whole life. Francis had trusted her to keep the fact that he was a nation secret, and she had. Arthur had kept her around as a translator when Matthew was just learning to speak English. The little English she had learned from her Massachusetts father had been enough to smooth communications between the two nations. She had been instructed to improve her English as well, so that she would be able to speak to Matthew only in English thereafter. Nevertheless, the pair only ever spoke in French to each other when the Englishman wasn't about.

"Je sais, petit. Mais, tu vas voir. Nous reviendrons au Québec bientôt." Her voice had sounded so hopeful, so happy to finally be returning to her homeland. Despite her calm attitude and the steadiness of her voice as she softly sung him French lullabies, Matthew could tell she was also afraid of the uncertain future by the way her hand shook slightly as she brushed his curls with her fingers. He would weep silently for her at her funeral three years later when she died at the ripe old age of 48.

_Geneviève, tu ne comprends pa__s_, he had thought to himself as the carriage jostled about on the bumpy road. _Je_ _n'ai pas peur pour moi-même. J'ai peur pour mon frère...

* * *

_

Long years passed without a word from Alfred. England had lost the war. Though he had commended Matthew on driving the Americans out of Québec, the Englishman began to visit him less and less each year, preferring to stay in London. Matthew never received an invitation to go visit him in Europe, so he simply never went. He figured Arthur was still emotionally distraught about losing Alfred; he had been his favourite after all.

When 1812 rolled around and Canada was plunged into war once more, Matthew appealed to Arthur for help, but the Brit never came. Matthew had had to fight his brother alone. Neither side really won or lost, but with every shot he took, Matthew had definitely felt something go missing.

He was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief in December of 1814. The signing of the Treaty of Ghent, where he had been forced to accompany Arthur, meant that even if the war wasn't over, it was on its way to becoming such. It had also been the first time he'd been able to talk to Alfred since the night he left Virginia 41 years earlier.

"_Nice weather, huh?"_

"_Nice? It's not cold, there's barely any snow on the ground, and this is supposed to be winter."_

"_And what are ya going to do about this abomination, brother?"_

"_Sulk."_

_Alfred couldn't help but chuckle. "Would ya like some company while you sulk?" He didn't even wait for an answer to sit down beside Matthew on the stone bench._

_A comfortable silence stretched out between the pair, both mulling over their own issues. Alfred was the first to break it._

"_You look older, ya know. It's kinda funny how war has a way of doing that."_

_It was true; Matthew had aged, though not by much. Still, officers didn't generally bother to stop and ask for your age if you were more than willing to go to war. Or if you looked old enough. Matthew assumed he was supposed to look around fourteen now, but perhaps the war made him seem older still, as war tended to do._

_Alfred on the other hand didn't seem to have changed much, though there was this confident air about him now. They had avoided each other on the battlefield throughout the war, neither brother desiring to wound the other so personally, so this was the first time they had been able to get such a close look at the other in decades. _

"_Does war change you every time? Does it always…take away little bits of you?" Matthew pleaded that Alfred understood what he was really getting at, because he couldn't quite describe the thing he now had less of._

_Alfred nodded. "It does. But, you know Matt, it's not all that bad. It's part of growing up, of becoming stronger."_

"_I'm not so sure I agree with you there, Al." And with that, Matthew stood up swiftly, and began to make his way, angrily, back towards the building. _

"_Nightflower is dead." _

_Matthew stopped dead in his tracks. Alfred's words cut through him like a sword through a loaf of bread. _No, it cannot be…

"_How do you know for certain?" he asked, turning only his head to look at Alfred who continued to look out at the scenery._

"_Redwing saw it happen, and came to tell me. I'm sure you know who it was that killed her." Alfred turned his head to look his brother in the eye. Matthew could find no trace of the elder's usual mirth. "Are you going to pick up where she left off?"_

_Looking away, Matthew nevertheless replied as confidently as he could. "Someone has to, Alfred. There are so few of us left…And don't even bother trying to dissuade me."_

_As his brother retreated to the warmth of the large house behind him, Alfred smirked, despite the fear and worry ripping at his heart. Maybe his little bro was more of a man than he thought.

* * *

_

"Wake up, lad."

"Hmmm?"

"Matthew, wake up."

"Ugh, what time is it?"

"Seven in the morn, I do believe."

"Fuck off, it's too early…"

"You did NOT just tell ME to fuck off, young man!"

"Shit! England, where'd you come from?"

"What do you mean 'where did I come from'? You INVITED me!...You reek of booze."

"That would have been from the party last night, and the night before, and the night before that one…"

"And you expect me to grant you your own Parliament…Get up and give me a tour of the town."

Grumbling and cursing under his breath (Jésus-Christ, when had the sun gotten so bright?), Matthew reluctantly got out of bed and started rummaging around the small room for clean clothes.

Despite his aching head, he still managed to prepare himself for the outside world fairly quickly. Quickly enough, at least, to spot Arthur giving a highly disapproving scowl to a pair of ladies' frilly undergarments that sat on the small desk littered with papers and other pieces of clothing. Matthew swiftly sidled up beside him to grab the incriminating article and tossed it into some random corner of the room, while placing his other arm around his guardian's shoulders.

"Breakfast first, I assume? I'm sure you'd love a calming cup of tea after such a long voyage at sea," proclaimed the young nation, grinning sheepishly, and nearly shoving his elder out of the room before closing and locking the door behind them.

"You should know that the sea bothers me not, Matthew. I am a seasoned veteran, not some cabin boy still trying to find his sea legs. But I believe a meal would do you some good right about now."

_Amen to understanding fathers_, Matthew prayed to the ceiling as the two of them walked down the stairs and into the dining area of the hotel. Despite the ridiculously early hour, most of the tables were already occupied, much to the confusion of the Englishman.

"Charlottetown is not usually such a bustling place, and I doubt the conference would attract such a crowd. What is the occasion?" he asked, after they had been seated and given menus.

Matthew, not once looking up from the list of edibles, replied in a distracted tone. "There's a circus in town. Quite unexpected really. Most of the spare rooms in the town are full, including all the hotels. The delegates on board the SS Victoria have been forced to take up lodgings on the ship during their stay. It was luck really that I was able to arrive just a day before the circus did and get myself a room. Oooo, dessert section…"

"Matthew, it's too early to be having pastries…" Arthur sighed. It was no use really; the young nation had the biggest sweet tooth out of everyone he knew. When the waiter came around to take their order, Matthew ordered one of every dessert on the menu, while Arthur got them tea and a scone for himself. Luckily, they served fewer desserts during breakfast than lunch and supper.

As the waiter left, Matthew answered the Brit in his usual way when it involved sweets at an early hour. "It's never too early for a slice of cake."

* * *

"Well, that was a delightful little breakfast," Arthur commented cheerfully as they walked down the street closer to the centre of the town.

"I don't know…the tart could have used more sugar…"

"I hope you don't eat like that every morning. You'll rack up quite the bill."

"It's okay; it's your money anyways."

Glaring daggers at the younger blond, Arthur decided against making a scene in public and continued walking. Somewhere along the way, Matthew's oddly small pet bear had appeared and was now silently keeping up with their paces.

"So, where are we going, lad?"

"I figured we could start in the areas more familiar to you and work out from….there."

Looking back, Arthur noticed that Matthew had stopped a few steps back, and was now looking intently at something off to the side. Following his gaze, England spotted…well, nothing unusual, just a tree on the side of the street. A little bird, some kind of sparrow he assumed, was jumping from branch to branch, chirping incessantly.

"Matthew…?"

"I have to go," was all he said before turning around and briskly making his way back to the hotel, Kuma hot on his heels. Arthur struggled to catch up to him, and keep up with him, even if they weren't running.

"Matthew…where…are you…going…?" Arthur barely choked out.

"I need to get back to the mainland. I…forgot about some business I have to take care of." Arthur went from curious to suspicious, but couldn't press the matter further until he got some air into his lungs. In no time, the pair found themselves back at the hotel and in Matthew's room where the younger bustled about getting together a small trunk of items, and the elder tried to regain his breath.

Before he could, Matthew was tossing him a set of keys, and heading out the door.

"Take my hotel room. There isn't anywhere else for you to stay anyways. I probably won't be back by the end of the conference, so if you could pack up my stuff and give it to Macdonald to take back, that would be great." He had a foot on the stairs before he turned back to face Arthur with a small smile. "I urge you go see the circus while you're here. It'll keep your mind off worrying about me." And he was gone, Kuma trailing after him.

_How could he tell I was worried?_, Arthur thought, staring at the spot Matthew was no longer in. Perhaps he was getting soft in his old age.

Sighing, England stepped into the room and sat down on the bed, only to discover he had sat down on a corset. That boy was getting a scolding when next they met up.

-{ * }-

Notes

The Charlottetown Conference: A conference held in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island during which delegates from all the colonies of British North America (minus Newfoundland who didn't get the memo until it was too late) discussed the idea of Canadian Confederation. The conference took place between September 1st and 9th, 1864. A circus was coincidentally performing in the town at the same time as the conference was to take place, making all the usually available rooms unavailable. Delegates from the Province of Canada (today Ontario and Québec) were forced to sleep aboard the ship they'd arrived on, the SS Victoria. The conference included parties and banquets that were held every night except Sunday. It's amazing anything got done really, considering everyone was in a permanent state of being either drunk or hung over.

Macdonald: As in Sir John A. Macdonald, first Prime Minister of Canada. Respect, dude, respect.

Translations

J'ai peur, Geneviève… – I'm scared, Geneviève...

Je sais, petit. Mais, tu vas voir. Nous reviendrons au Québec bientôt – I know, little one. But, you'll see. We'll be back in Québec soon

Geneviève, tu ne comprends pas – Geneviève, you don't understand

Je n'ai pas peur pour moi-même. J'ai peur pour mon frère... – I'm not scared for myself. I'm scared for my brother...

A Note From Blaklite: And the plot picks up! Who is this mysterious Nightflower? Why is Matt in such a hurry? And will he survive England's scolding? Find out…next time I update. :P


	4. Scars

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Three: Scars

Rather than sail back to London after the conference, Arthur chose to accompany Matthew's luggage back to Québec City. He had managed to barter his way aboard the SS Victoria, and had been better able to get to know the gentlemen who would later be called the Fathers of Confederation. They were certainly an unusual bunch…

There was not a hitch to be had during the entire trip, allowing the SS Victoria to land on schedule. As he made his way through the city, Arthur wondered if Matthew was back yet from his 'business trip'. Even if the boy wasn't, Arthur had the spare key to his house.

It took Arthur nearly an hour to find the place on foot. Nations needed to change locales every so often to keep the neighbours from becoming suspicious of their subdued aging properties, and England had not yet been to Matthew's latest abode. The lad's instructions weren't very clear either, mostly because Arthur could barely read such chicken scratch. But the Englishman arrived at the small building eventually. Curious location really, right on the edge of town.

He was slightly disappointed to find the door locked. Matthew generally left his house unlocked during the day, unless he was out. Unlocking the front door and dragging both suitcases into the hallway, Arthur made up his mind to make himself a cup of tea and wait to see if Matthew would be back soon.

Just as the Brit was making his way down the hall towards what he hoped would be the kitchen, he heard a loud BANG!, followed by an high-pitched whimper.

"Matthew?" he called, but there was no answer. Cautiously continuing down the hall and rounding a corner, he noticed that the back door was wide open, allowing a draft to slip into the house. What's more is that droplets of fresh blood appeared to be staining the wood floor, and he could vaguely hear the sound of…was that panting? coming from the next room.

"Matthew, lad?" he called out again, more than a little on edge. An unusual sound a little like scratching on wood greeted his ears, followed by heavy footfalls, and finally a voice.

"Ar-thur…don't…don't come…in…" England could barely make out the words. It was Matthew alright, but he sounded weak and in pain. Before he could even take a step, there was a dull thump that was almost covered up by the sounds of dishes crashing and clattering to the ground. England's mind went into overdrive, and he rushed into the room.

He stopped almost as suddenly as he had started. The floor around the table was littered with cutlery, plates, and other assorted dishes, some pieces broken and others unharmed. Also on the floor was Matthew curled up into a ball with naught but a table cloth covering him up, a table cloth that was slowly being stained red.

"Oh God…Matthew, what happened?" Arthur asked, though his own voice became weak from shock. Kneeling down beside the other, he tried to remove the table cloth to inspect the younger's wounds. Finding no resistance, he peeled back enough of the fabric to reveal the top half of the Canadian's body. As mottled in bruises and gashes as Matthew's skin was, Arthur could still make out what looked like the claw and bite marks of a large animal. Almost like…a wolf.

"I…I was near a small town, t-trying to track down a group of raiders. Well, they…found me first and…set their dogs on me. S-stole everything I had, 'nd…left me for dead." He gave a small chuckle, which was more of a cough. "Shame they didn't know we nations can't die." A coughing fit ensued, and England could do nothing but watch on.

"Do you have any medical supplies? Bandages?"

"Kitchen…Bottom cupboard…"

As Arthur rushed about his home collecting supplies, Matthew tried to pull himself up into a chair. In the end, Arthur had to help him out, and then proceeded to dress his wounds. All the while, Matthew couldn't help but mentally repeat apologies over and over again.

_I'm sorry, Granitetooth…forgive me._

Arthur on the other hand, suspecting that Matthew was lying to cover up the fact that a wolf had attacked him, vowed to get revenge on the beasts that hurt his little Matthew so.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked.

"Better, that's certain." _Though I don't _look_ any better…_Matthew thought as he inspected his sixteen year old body in the mirror. It had been a few days since Arthur had found him broken and bleeding on the floor, and though his wounds had closed, his skin remained a patchwork of slowly fading bruises, and angry red and purple scars. A few of his deeper wounds were still scabbed over, but the fracture in his arm had healed nicely. In another day or two, all traces of the attack would be gone, a testament to the healing abilities of their kind.

Unfortunately, no amount of healing power could fix the pain in his heart. That would take much more time.

At least there was one thing he could get off his mind, something he'd been wondering since Arthur offered to stay with him the first night.

"Why are you still here, Arthur?" Matthew asked, putting a shirt on to cover his exposed chest with only minor stabs of pain shooting through his body.

Slightly taken aback, the Brit took a moment to compose a response. "Am I not permitted to look after my colonies?"

"Well, it just always seems like you're so busy lately…" _Lately as in the past seventy years…_

Detecting loneliness behind his words, Arthur was more careful to answer this time. "I suppose I have been busy. The world is changing quickly nowadays. But that's still no excuse for ignoring you all this time."

Matthew couldn't help but smirk as he scratched behind Kumajirou's ears. "And people say you have no tact."

"Francis hardly counts as a person, Matthew. More like a cat in permanent heat…"

Matthew chuckled, but wasn't exactly sure how to reply to that statement. Instead, he continued to pet the sleeping bear, and an awkward silence descended upon the room and the two nations within.

Arthur gave a soft cough to try and lift the silence, but it did little to boost his confidence. He knew what he had to ask, though it seemed like an awkward thing to say. _Oh well,_ he thought. _Here goes nothing._

"Matthew, lad, you know…you can tell me, about what really happened." The boy looked at him, confusion in his violet eyes, his arm falling to his side. "About the attack. No dog would leave wounds like that." Arthur paused, Matthew shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "It was wolves, wasn't it?"

The Canadian looked at the floor, the dresser, the nightstand, Kuma, anything but the Englishman. His eyes finally settled on a spot off to the side, a sadness creeping into his eyes as if he was remembering something. Arthur was about to tell him he didn't have to answer when the young nation did.

"Yes, it was _a_ wolf. I…I had to kill…it." He looked up to stare Arthur directly in the eyes, desperation written on his face. "But most wolves are very gentle, and don't attack people. The one that attacked me was just a rogue..."

"Alright, alright, I get the idea," Arthur said to placate the slowly panicking Canadian, raising his hands palms outward to accent his point. This seemed to assure the younger blond, though he kept a wary eye on the Brit. "Anyways," he continued, slinging an arm around the other's shoulders and guiding him out of the room. "I believe lunch is in order. If you're feeling strong enough, we can walk to the nearest tavern for a morsel. Though, if you're not up to it, I can whip up some more soup just as easily."

"Errr, I think a walk will do me some good." Matthew had already survived three days on England's cooking, but he wasn't willing to push his luck any further. Not in this century, at least.

-{ * }-

Notes

Québec City: At the time, Québec City was the capital of the Province of Canada. In 1866, the capital was finally changed to Ottawa (the capital had continuously changed over the years) where it would remain as the capital of the Dominion of Canada in 1867 and beyond. The Province of Canada was split in 1867 to become Ontario and Québec, each with separate capitals.

A Note From Blaklite: DUH DUH DUH! More mystery, and finally some violence! Unless met with heavy opposition, the violence in this story will escalate, and descriptions will become gorier. Let me know if you want to see more blood (or not) by reviewing.


	5. Crush

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Four: Crush

"You see, Kat, they're doing just fine. You were worried over nothing."

With wide, glistening eyes, and a slightly wobbly smile, Yekaterina (also known by her pet name Katyusha) looked out over the little railroad town of mostly Ukrainian immigrants. Ukrainian farms dotted the entire area for kilometers and kilometers, all of them prosperous and growing. She had been so worried for them, worried that they wouldn't be able to adapt. But the prairies were very much like her own steppes; it hadn't been difficult for them at all.

"Oh, Matviyko!" she exclaimed in a heavy accent, trapping him in a spine-crushing hug that nearly resulted in their collision with the ground. "Zank you, zank you so much!" Without thinking, she gave him a quick, chaste peck on the cheek.

And that's when time just about stopped for him. Just about…

"I-it's nothing, Katyusha," he finally stuttered out, convinced that he probably looked like a blushing, grinning idiot. "Anything to help out." _Anything for you…_

Smiling brightly, she finally released him from her death-grip, much to Canada's disappointment. She stared at him intently for a few seconds before remarking, "Somezing's diffayrent about you."

"D-different?" Shit, was his shirt inside out? Or was there something on his face? He'd been so nervous this morning…

"AHA!" she shouted, making him jump somewhat. "You are taller and…" She struggled to find the word in English. "Handsomer."

Surprised, Matthew noticed that he _had_ gotten a bit taller since the last time he had seen her. In fact, he was now slightly taller than she was.

"I…I guess I am a bit taller…" His voice had slipped into a quiet whisper, his blush almost certainly getting a bit darker. She…she thought he was handsome?

A train whistle sounded not far off, shattering Matthew's reverie. He hadn't even noticed it approaching, and all too soon it would be here to take Yekaterina away again…

Turning to her and trying not to sound desperate, he asked, "You will return again, right? To, to check up on them?" Beside them, the train slowed to a stop.

At that, she giggled, and Matthew thought there was no more beautiful a sound in the whole world. "Of course I vill return. To see my people, our people, and Matviyko, too."

Before boarding the train that would take her far away from him, Katyusha grabbed Matthew's hand, and gave him another chaste kiss, this time on the lips. Wide-eyed, the Canadian was frozen in place as his heart exploded in a shower of joy. Even as she backed away, their hands remaining attached for as long as possible, and he could still feel tingles throughout his body. Smiling her usual smile, Katyusha boarded the train, waving to Matthew even as the train moved further and further away. Grinning from ear to ear, he waved back, stopping only when he was sure she could no longer see him.

It took him a while yet to move from that spot, lost as he was not in thought, but in feeling. In the end, he'd had to rely on instincts to get home as his brain was temporarily out of commission.

* * *

Hearing the front door open and close, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps, Arthur didn't even bother to look up from his newspaper to ask, "Things went well with Ukraine, I assume?"

Matthew, still dazed from the kiss, plopped down on his back on the sofa before answering in the same distant tone everyone uses when a revelation dawns on them. "Father, I think I'm in love…"

"You know, that's the same thing Alfred said when he discovered whores."

"I'm serious, Arthur. She's…well, she's perfect…"

"Mhmm, right…" Arthur responded wearily, turning a page.

"She's kind and caring…"

"Her brother will kill you, you know."

"She's strong, yet gentle…"

"She's also 600 years older than you."

"She's absolutely beautiful, body, mind, and spirit…"

"Yes, those large…tracks of land _are_ quite desirable. She'd make a fine addition to the Empire."

Sitting up, Matthew glared a look at Arthur that was colder than the northern snows. Arthur, for his part, merely sipped his tea as he read through a section about how residents of Toronto were coping after the fire a few weeks ago.

"Do you ever _not_ think about 'what's best for the Empire'?"

"Only when I'm thinking about what's best for everyone who is not currently in the Empire, and how much better their lives could be if they were. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"I'm recovering…" Matthew responded, absently rubbing his upper right arm where the small burn had become a slowly fading scar. "What do you have against Katyusha anyways?"

"I have nothing against the poor girl, Matthew. I'm just thinking of the long term. In a decade, this puppy love will be over, and you won't even remember her name," Arthur stated matter-of-factly, taking another sip of his tea.

"You're a real dick sometimes, you know." Infuriated, Matthew stood up and stomped out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be in my room. Don't bother me."

Hearing the telltale creaks of the stairs even past the stomping, Arthur yelled, "If I give you permission to court her, will you forgive me for the Alaskan bound-"

"NO!" The slamming of a door resonated around the house before silence descended upon the prairie estate once more, interrupted only by the ticking of the grandfather clock, and the flipping of newspaper pages.

-{ * }-

Notes

Ukrainian-Canadians: The 1890s and early 1900s saw a large migration of Ukrainians into Canada. Most of them ended up on the Prairies, taking up the farming lives they had back in the "Old Country". They are greatly attributed with the settling of the Prairies.

Matviyko: Matthew in Ukrainian.

Ukraine's Age: I attest to the fact that the beginning of the Ukraine has much to do with the establishment of Kievan Rus', which occurred around 880. I place England's knowledge of Canada's beginnings somewhere around 1500, when European _re_discovered the continent (remember the Vikings?).

1904 Great Fire of Toronto: As the name suggests, in April of 1904 a fire broke out in downtown Toronto, destroying much of the downtown core, including many parts of Front Street. No one was killed, but massive damages were caused and about five thousand people became jobless.

Alaskan Boundary Dispute: The Alaskan Boundary Dispute was a territorial dispute between Canada and America over a section of the coast around Alaska and British Columbia. The Americans argued that a greater amount of territory was rightfully theirs due to the Alaskan Purchase. The Canadian government, however, claimed a different border, which allowed significantly less land to the U.S.A. A tribunal was created in 1903, composed of three Americans, two Canadians, and one Englishman, which was to discuss and vote on where the border should be drawn. In the end, the Englishman sided with the Americans, and though the Americans did not receive the exact amount of land they were demanding, quite a bit of land became part of the Alaskan Panhandle. This led to tensions between Canada and the British Empire, as well as sowed deeper mistrust of Americans.

A Note From Blaklite: Not too much going on plot-wise this time, guys. Sorry.


	6. Warning

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Five: Warning

Knock knock.

…Silence.

"Matthew?"

Knock knock knock.

…No answer.

The door handle was locked.

Sigh…"I'm going out hunting. I'll be back before supper."

Arthur knew that Matthew tended to hold grudges, but he'd only been joking. Mostly. It didn't hurt to be sensible, and really, he was only protecting the boy from future heartbreak by dissuading him.

With a final sigh, Arthur turned around and headed back down the stairs. The Canadian would emerge from his room eventually, though he probably wouldn't talk to Arthur for another few days. In other words, Arthur was left to entertain himself for the next week.

_And what better way to remain occupied than a little hunting_, he thought as he grabbed his rifle and headed out the back door. He hadn't bought all this land just to look at it, after all.

* * *

Arthur had been tracking his quarry for quite some time now, and yet he still had not spotted a single deer. He had remained patient, but now, with the sun nearing the horizon, he was beginning to consider turning back.

Up ahead, the trees appeared to thin out. Hope blooming in his chest, Arthur nonetheless approached the edge of the small clearing carefully and silently. Centuries of practice had turned him into a skilled hunter, and even if there weren't any deer in the clearing, it was better not to waste one's chances.

When at last the Englishman got into place on the edge of the open space, he looked out and saw only a small pack of wolves already feasting on the carcass of a freshly dead doe. Arthur had been too late, and the wolves had beaten him to it.

But this did not necessarily mean he had to leave empty-handed, or unsatisfied. As long suppressed memories flooded through his mind, Arthur found himself taking aim at one of the wolves, a largely grey and white male with a bloodied snout. _Thieves, killers, villains, monsters!_, he thought as the screams of a little girl reverberated in the back of his mind, the memory fading. His finger tightened on the trigger…

So concentrated was he that Arthur did not notice the white blur of fur until it collided with his body, sending him tumbling to the ground. The shot rang out, but the bullet sped into the treetops rather than bury itself in the side of the wolf. Looking around, Arthur just barely caught the sight of a white wolf disappearing into spring foliage. In the clearing, the wolves had gone, leaving behind only the half-eaten body of the deer.

Frustrated and angry, Arthur made his way back to the prairie house in the fast fading light of the setting sun, nursing a sore leg from the impact with that stupid and unusual white wolf.

* * *

Barging into the house, the smell of cooking immediately greeted Arthur's nose. At least Matthew hadn't kept himself locked up in his room for as long as Arthur thought he would.

Trudging into the kitchen, Arthur stretched himself out on a chair and breathed a sigh of relief. It was wonderful to be surrounded by such delicious smells. How come his cooking never turned out so delectable?

_Because Matthew was raised by Francis, idiot_, his mind, unkindly, supplemented.

Frowning and looking down at the floor, Arthur noticed Matthew's little white bear looking up at him. He was about to tell it to bugger off, when the bear spoke first.

"Fail," he said, and waddled off out of the room. Arthur could only glare at Kuma's retreating back.

"An unsuccessful hunt, eh?" Matthew, cheerily, stated (though in question form). Arthur shifted his glare to the younger blond who just continued to go about checking the food as it cooked. The Canadian was still upset with him then…

"Only because I was foiled by a stupid bloody pack of wolves…" Arthur couldn't quite keep the anger from his voice as he replied, rubbing his face with his hand.

"You didn't hurt them, did you?"

Remembering the day's earlier events, the Englishman begrudgingly answered, "No, why?"

"Because…" Matthew paused to check the potatoes. "Because you promised you wouldn't hurt them."

"What?" Arthur gave the boy a look which quite clearly demonstrated his confusion, making his question unnecessary. Matthew, turning around and crossing his arms, looked like a mother who was scolding her children for disturbing the neighbouring elderly couple's flower garden.

"Nearly a century and a half ago, you promised me you'd never hunt the wolves."

It took a moment for Arthur's memory to kick in, but when it did, he _did_ recall promising something to that extent. "I believe I promised only not to hunt the wolves that had surrounded you in the woods."

Not even bothering to correct the rest of Arthur's wrong facts, Matthew retorted, "No, I made you promise not to hunt down ANY wolves. But you could have today."

"Why is this so important to you, Matthew?" Arthur was nearly yelling. It had been a bad enough day so far, he didn't need to have a fight with his son, too.

After another moment of glaring, Canada turned back around and continued busying himself with supper. "Go wash up," he commanded in a soft tone. "It'll be ready soon."

For all that the Brit wanted to snap back, and tell his colony who was really in charge and who gave the orders around here, he instead left the room to do as he was told. He'd rather eat and nurse a wounded pride, than go hungry and prove a point. For today at least, especially since he noticed that Matthew had made pound cake for dessert…

-{ * }-

Notes? Not this time.

A Note From Blaklite: This will be the last update before the break. Happy holidays everyone and see you all in 2011. :)


	7. Hero

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Six: Hero

Five years. Five long years, and he was finally going back. The Treaty of Versailles had been signed, and the war was officially over.

It is ironic, perhaps, that the same wars that tear apart nations, and destroy alliances can also build national identity, and strengthen ties within a nation. Matthew certainly thought so as he gazed out across the sea. The war had taken its toll on him as well, but he had ended up stronger because of it. His people had found a new sense of pride, a sense of being Canadian.

But it was not time to let go, not yet.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Matthew glanced over his shoulder to spot a familiar looking Brit coming his way. His guardian was not faring as well as he had been now that the war was over. He had lost much, and gained nothing; a once glorious empire, now a country in shambles. It hurt to see Arthur so far fallen, which is how Matthew knew he couldn't yet leave the Englishman to stand on his own. Besides, he had proven his loyalty throughout the war. Backing out now would be the coward's thing to do.

"Need a hand, old man?" Matthew called out, smirking. Arthur, grumbling under his breath, finally hobbled up to stand beside his ward, letting out a sigh when he got there. Matthew chuckled. "Joints still acting up? Perhaps I should have bought you a cane for your birthday."

"Give them some slack, and they start tugging on the leash…" The elder nation growled out. It was true though, he _was_ starting to feel his age. But he refused to admit he was old, it was just this economic recession going on.

He wasn't the only one who looked older. Matthew had aged a bit as well, much more closely resembling a confident seventeen year old now. Of course, that didn't help England feel any younger.

"How's Francis, by the way?" The last time the Canadian had seen his old mentor had been at the signing of the Treaty a month ago. Matthew would have been lying if he said he wasn't concerned for France's health.

"He's getting better, slowly, though he's still in a wheelchair. He's worried sick over Belgium."

"How is-"

"She's still bedridden and hurting, but at least she's on the way to making a full recovery."

A moment of silence passed between the two, though all around them the busy sounds of the port continued to clash, coming together to form an unusual symphony to which the pair was deaf, each caught in their own thoughts.

"She's forever grateful, you know, for what you did, liberating her and her brother. Holland, well, he won't shut up about you really," Arthur said, smiling. Matthew, blushing from such praise, looked away for a moment with a shy smile of his own gracing his features.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Matthew turned his head again to look at his colonizer. Green eyes shone with pride as the pair gazed at each other.

"We are _all_ grateful for your sacrifice, Matthew."

Canada, feeling more than a little out of place from such attention, could only mumble out, "I-I only did w-what I had to d-do…"

"Calm _down_, lad. I'm not asking you to make a speech," the Brit all but laughed before he continued in a more serious tone. "Now, are you sure you want to leave today? I could arrange a longer stay for you. You'll be treated like a hero here in Europe."

"I believe I've had enough of heroes' work for one century. Let Alfred take up my part; I'm more than content to take up a sleepy little life on the Prairies."

"Oh, don't you worry. Your brother hasn't stopped boasting about how he's the hero since he joined the war. All those decades in isolation must have finally made him crack."

Matthew couldn't help but chuckle. "Al's always been…unique like that."

"That he is, that he is…"

The sound of the steamship beside them starting up its engines brought an end to their conversation.

"You will come visit as soon as you can, right?" Matthew asked.

"Of course, lad, of course."

Shaking hands, father and son bid each other farewell with sad smiles before the younger dashed off to join the rest of the late stranglers boarding the ship, but not before giving the older a brief but crushing hug which resulted in one cracked spine. Waving him off as well as he could with a sore back, Arthur took one last look at Matthew before turning around and heading back home to rest and tea.

* * *

After making port in Montréal, Matthew hadn't even made it on the train that would take him to Ottawa before a sharp pain erupted in his side. Doubling over, he had to bite back a cry of pain as another jab attacked his side. It was as if he'd been stabbed…

_Oh no, Kumakiro!_

He was on the train as soon as it arrived, and the first off of it when he reached Ottawa. The whole ride, he'd fidgeted in his seat, and urged, _prayed_, that the train would go faster. Now that he was back on his own two feet, he ran the whole way to his little house on the outskirts of the city.

Dropping his bag on the porch, Canada walked slowly into his house, despite the rising panic in his chest. Obviously frustrated with the lock, someone had broken in the door, leaving it open and half hanging off its hinges. Nothing else seemed disturbed, however. Whoever it was, they didn't come here for looting. Whoever it was had had a specific goal in mind, had specifically targeted his house.

And as Matthew stepped into the living room, he immediately found out he was right.

"Kumachiko?" he called out. The bear limped into sight from behind the sofa where he had been hiding. His side was wet with blood and he was limping, but from the fact that he hadn't passed out, he was probably healing just fine.

"_He_ was here," the bear told him, his voice revealing his hatred for the man that had broken into the house and stabbed him.

"I know…We're going to have to be more careful from now on, Kumafuru…"

Matthew let his eyes roam down to the floor once more. Written in blood on the polished wood and in a long dead Aboriginal language, the message on the floor read, _Who is hunting whom?_

_Who indeed_, thought Canada.

-{ * }-

Notes

National identity: It is true that the Great War helped bring together the Canadian population, both at home and on the front. They began to feel proud of being Canadian, however they did not forget about their ties to Britain. In fact, most Canadians at the time did _not_ want to become independent from the British Empire. They simply wanted a bit more room to move around (and control their own foreign policy).

England in shambles: After the Great War, the British Empire fell from being the greatest and wealthiest nation in the world, to one of the weakest and poorest. The U.S.A. quickly took up first place.

England's age: Personally, I trace England's year of birth to 55 B.C.E. when the Romans began their invasion (even if the first invasions were unsuccessful). Roman interference is what ultimately led to the downfall of the Britons.

France's age: Again based on personally opinion, France would have been born around 387 B.C.E. when the Gauls sacked the city of Rome. From then on, Rome held a nasty grudge against Gaul until finally taking over.

Liberation of Belgium and Holland: Canada was fairly important in liberating these countries during the Great War and World War II. To this day, these countries still celebrate Canadian war veterans, and what Canada did for them.

A Note From Blaklite: Mysterious new character to be revealed soon? *Wink wink*


	8. Atonement

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Seven: Atonement

"AAAAAAAH!"

Arthur could barely stand the screaming anymore, not because it bothered or annoyed him, but because it meant that his companion was still going through Hell. A new offence had commenced not long ago, and the bombings were starting to take their toll on Francis.

Against Arthur's wishes, Francis had stubbornly re-joined the war as a soldier even after everything he'd been through so far. Arthur had not let the Frenchman out of his sights since he had found him pale, and thin, and battered on a side street near his Paris apartment. For the past four years, he had been locked in a basement, given barely anything to eat, and beaten almost daily. He had received no news from the outside world the entire time, and hadn't once been visited by either Germany or Prussia.

Somehow he had held on to sanity and hope, and Arthur admired him all the more for it.

Cradling the French nation against his chest as the screams subsided, England let his fingers roam through Francis's usually silky but now scraggly and matted hair. Arthur took extra care not to loosen the bandage that wrapped around his head and covered his left eye.

It was night, and the two had chosen to bunker down in an abandoned store of the newly liberated town. It was just the two of them now; Francis had broken down just before their company was to move on, and so they had left without the pair. Arthur had had to virtually carry Francis into the building so they would at least have some shelter. At least he wasn't as light as he had been in Paris…

"Arthur?"

"I'm still here, Francis," the sandy blond assured the older man. This at least seemed to calm the other down as his breathing slowed. The bombardment appeared to have stopped for the moment as the distant sound of rumbling no longer reached their ears. However, the ground was still trembling deep underneath their feet. Arthur held the shaking Francis tighter.

"Where…where are Mathieu, and Alfred?"

"They're fine; they're still headed towards Belgium. Alfred, well he's too stupid for death, and you know how Matthew is on the battlefield. You'll see; they'll chase Germany and Prussia out of the east lands with their tails between their legs."

Francis let out a weak chuckle at this and snuggled closer to Arthur. "'Ot on ze trail of zeir prey, like ze loup-garou…" the Frenchman mumbled into the other blond's shirt.

"The loo-gawhat?"

"The loup-garou. A…werewolf? in English. Ze 'umans once believed zat certain among zem could transform into wolves whenever it so pleased zem. Zey are deadly in wolf form, if anyzing because zey are smarter zan the wolves zey emulate. It is said zat should you shed the blood of a loup-garou, zeir secret will be revealed. Maintenant, laisse-moi dormir."

Reflecting silently on the fairytale as his companion drifted off into slumber, Arthur smiled to himself. Humans had such odd yet interesting stories, worrying over non-existent wolf-people when the real threat was still out there. Wolves themselves were vicious killers even without fairytales helping them along (and if humans were going to make up horror stories, they might as well have based them on _real_ creatures like boggarts, and redcaps, and wyrms).

As the Englishman too began to drift off, images of wolves danced through his head.

* * *

"_How close are we to the town?"_

"_Just over that hill, sir." _

_A few days ago, the king had received several complaints of wolves attacking flocks of sheep in a town just two days ride from London. He had dispatched Arthur and a small company of four men to go deal with the problem. Dressed in their hunting gear and on horseback, the group had set out._

"_Haha! I can't believe we're getting paid for this," laughed out one of the men. _

"_Let's just get this over with…" grumbled Arthur, scowling. He could think of a million better things he could be doing than going on a wolf hunt in some country village. He should have been at court, taking part in issues that would affect the country, affect him. With tensions rising between King Edward and Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, Prince of Wales, it was too critical a time to be gallivanting about._

_Suddenly, the high-pitched scream of a little girl broke him from his musings, and immediately brought everyone in the company to attention. Brandishing all manners of weapons, the group charged off down the country road towards the source of the commotion._

_None of them expected the sight that would befall them. For on the side of the road around the bend lay the dead body of a boy not more than nine years old with three thin, mangy wolves feasting on his carcass as another two wolves attacked a girl of six or seven._

_Arthur was the first to reach the wolves, his shock already having been replaced by anger. Targeting one of the wolves feasting on the boy, he brought his sword down to slice into its torso. The wolves began to scatter as the rest of the men attacked. All but one had been slain._

_Looking around for the last wolf, Arthur spotted it running across a field towards a patch of woods. Wasting no time, he snatched a bow from the hands of one of the men and nocked an arrow. Raising the bow and locking on to his target, Arthur waited for just the right moment…_

"_Uh, sir, the wolf is rather far away. We can resume the hunt tomo-"_

_The twang of the arrow being released followed by a yelp quickly shut him up. In the distance, the wolf fell to the ground mid run, tumbling over its own legs. _

_Handing the bow back to the now stunned man, Arthur got off his horse and walked over to where another gentleman was watching over the little girl. Looking up at Arthur as he approached, the man shook his head, signaling that she wasn't going to make it. Kneeling beside her and taking her hand, Arthur could do nothing but watch as the little girl began to pass into darkness. Smiling and gazing up at the sky, her last words were, "_Graunt mercy, lordynges_."_

_As the four men made the sign of the cross, Arthur could but stare at the small body that just seconds ago held life. Raising his teary eyes to the heavens, Arthur could think but one thing: _Foryeveth me, smal oon_…_

_Arthur remained kneeling beside the little girl's body even as the other men prepared to continue their journey. They still had to ride to the town and collect their fees for killing the wolves. _

"_Sir, we're prepared to leave…sir?"_

_Taking off his cloak and wrapping the small body in it, Arthur lifted the dead girl into his arms, and placed her on the saddle._

"_We take the bodies with us and deposit them with the _curaat_," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. "Who will take the boy's body?"_

_The men gave each other hesitant looks before the gentleman whose bow Arthur had borrowed stepped forward. "I will, sir."_

"_Good," Arthur replied, tossing him a blanket from his saddlebags. _

_When the group finally rode into town, Arthur and the man carrying the boy's body continued up the hill towards the church while the other three men stopped to go collect their money from the sheriff. After leaving the corpses in the priest's care, Arthur bid the other man go and claim his share of the prize while he stayed and said one last prayer for the children's souls. As he was leaving the holy building, he was stopped by the priest._

"_For a knight so young, you have a kind heart. What is a lad of seventeen winters like you doing in such a profession of killing?"_

"_Looks can be deceiving, father," Arthur answered, without turning around. "I regret not the lives I have taken, merely the lives I could not save."_

"_The orphans will find their way to heaven, thanks to your actions," the priest called out as Arthur walked out of the church._

_On that day, Arthur finally understood in his own way why Edward had ordered the deaths of all the wolves of Britain. Until the last wolf lay dead in a pool of its own blood, Arthur vowed to never stop hunting them.

* * *

_

"Angleterre. Réveille-toi, mon petit lapin."

Opening his eyes and turning towards the voice, England was met with a face full of Frenchman. In all his years, Arthur thought that there was no more heartening a sight than to see those sapphire blue eyes alight with life once more (when had he taken off the bandage?). Even the suggestive twist to his smile was welcoming.

"Bonjour, mon cher. Did you rest well?"

"Better than I have in decades." Arthur replied in a soft voice. His heart ached with happiness to hear Francis back to his normal self, though the tiredness had not left his voice.

"So did I," Francis replied, snuggling into Arthur's chest as he had the night before. They were still in the same position they had fallen asleep in: Arthur sitting up with his back against the wall, and Francis half-sitting beside him, half-lying on him. "Zis is ze first time we've woken up togezer in a long time."

Impulsively, Arthur tilted Francis's chin towards him and kissed him, long and deep. Caught off guard, it took the Frenchman a second to register and react to what was happening. Unfortunately, the Brit pulled away before he could make things interesting.

"_Never_ scare me like that again," England demanded and pleaded at the same time, a whirlpool of emotion swirling in his emerald eyes. France, unaccustomed to seeing the Englishman so emotional and unreserved, found himself unable to form words, and instead pulled the other blond into another gentle, loving kiss.

Pulling back slowly and gazing into that sea of green, Francis was finally able to speak. "Je te promets, mon amour."

"Good. Now, let's go find our children…in a moment."

The pair enjoyed a moment longer together and in relative peace before beginning their journey to regroup with their company.

-{ * }-

Notes

Liberation of Paris: On August 19, 1944, the city of Paris was surrendered over by German forces to the French Resistance and the 4th Infantry Division of the U.S.A. I realize that British troops were not part (as far as I know) of the liberation, however it does not seem like such a stretch to me that Arthur would have accompanied Alfred in order to find Francis.

Francis's accent: In the text, I tried to show how Francis would have a light French accent when speaking English. For this reason, I only changed the English 'th' sound, and excluded the 'h'. Trust me, I've been to Paris. It is a difficult for the French to speak English.

Boggarts, Redcaps, and Wyrms (oh my!): All three of these mythical creatures can be found in English folklore. Boggarts are malevolent fairies that generally destroy everything in your house and are impossible to get rid of, Redcaps are goblin-like creatures that must continually murder wanderers and dye their hats red using their victims' blood, and a Wyrm is just another word for Dragon.

1272-1276: During the reign of King Edward I (which began in 1272), the king declared that wolves were to be hunted to extinction. In 1276, war was declared between England and Wales. The dream/memory takes place between these times.

Wolves in Britain: Until their relative extermination in the 15th century, wolves had actually been quite numerous on the island, and unusually so. Wolves were a continuous threat in Britain until King Edward I called for their annihilation. They were known to not only decimate flocks of sheep, but devour the bodies of fallen soldiers after battles, and even attack people. Children and women were the easiest targets for wolves, even to this day.

Middle English: The language of England from sometime after the Norman Conquest to around 1470. Due to Norman influences, Middle English adopted many French words and spellings. Before this period, Old English was widely spoken, and afterwards was Early Modern English. For examples, read _Beowulf_ (Old English), _The Canterbury Tales_ (by Geoffrey Chaucer, Middle English), and anything by Shakespeare (Early Modern English) in their original language texts.

Translations

Maintenant, laisse-moi dormir – Now, let me sleep

Graunt mercy, lordynges – Thank you, my lords

Foryeveth me, small oon – Forgive me, little one

Curaat – Priest

Angleterre. Réveille-toi, mon petit lapin – England. Wake up, my little rabbit

Bonjour, mon cher – Good morning, dearest

Je te promets, mon amour – I promise you, my love

A Note From Blaklite: I know, I know…I keep dallying around revealing what the ACTUAL plot of this story is…Badass knight!Arthur and cute FrUK moment make up for it though, yeah? *hopeful smile and thumbs up*

To give everyone a ray of hope, the plot is revealed in chapters 10 and 11.


	9. Harbinger

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Eight: Harbinger

"Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon, what a pleasant surprise."

"Good evening, Runs-Along-the-Riverbank…Can I come in?"

The woman stared at him, unimpressed, for a moment before sighing. "If I didn't know that the cold doesn't bother you none, I would have left you out here," she proclaimed, walking away from the door but leaving it open. Unsure whether she was joking or not, Matthew smiled nervously before stepping inside the modest house.

"That beast stays outside," the woman's voice cut through the air. Stopping with one foot inside the building and one out, Matthew looked back at Kuma with a worried glance, and then back at the woman. Her glare was enough to give puppies heart attacks out of fear. Rather than face her wrath, the Canadian glanced back at Kuma and gave an apologetic smile. Rolling his eyes, Kuma went to go build himself a mini snow fort in the front yard while he waited for his owner to be done with his business.

Closing the door and mentally promising the bear that he would get him top-notch salmon for a week, Matthew removed his snowy coat and boots before following the woman into the kitchen area. It was a modest room with white and grey tiles, the appliances slightly worn down from use and old age.

Pouring herself and Matthew some tea, the woman motioned for him to make himself comfortable. Sitting on the only other chair at the table across from the woman, Matthew took a careful sip of tea, feeling her eyes bore into his soul like a drill digging for oil in the Alberta soil.

He was about to start up a conversation when she bluntly asked, "Why are you here?"

Well, so much for being polite. "I need to know whose side you're on."

The Aboriginal woman scoffed at this. "I stopped picking sides centuries ago," she replied, lighting a cigarette. The action somehow seemed to accent the crow's feet around her dark, near black eyes, the wrinkles on her once supple hands.

Matthew, however, was not deterred. "He will come for you, you know. He's been slowly picking off our brethren, offering only two choices: join him, or die."

"I do not need your protection if that is what you are offering, little brother."

"Then do it for me. Please. Should it come down to a war, I fear I will not survive it on my own. I need allies, Runs-Along-the-Riverbank," Matthew pleaded.

The woman took another drag from her cigarette. "Why not ask your new kin, your fellow palefaces? I'm sure they'd love to help."

"You know I can't involve them. And do not be unfair, sister. I did not ask to be born this way."

"Neither did I." Pausing for a moment to look at him, she continued with none of her usual bite, "I am weary, Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon. Weary, and tired, and old. My time to fight has passed. But yours has just begun. You chose this path, do not forget that." She stubbed out her cigarette, returning to her old self. "Now leave, and let an old woman live in peace."

Sighing, Matthew stood. "It was a pleasure to see you again, sister." Walking over to where she sat, he placed a hand on her shoulder, worry obvious in his features. "Take care, alright? If ever you need anything, you know where to find me."

Grumbling, she shrugged him off. "Don't die out there, puppy. The last thing I need is to be identifying your remains off the frozen sidewalk."

Smiling, Matthew left the room, got his winter gear, and exited the house.

"No luck?" Kuma asked as they walked to the car on the other side of the street.

"It would have surprised me if she had decided to join a side. It is not her way."

Silence stretched as Matthew fiddled for the right key.

"Who are you, again?" the bear asked as the blond finally unlocked the door.

Sigh. "Canada…"

* * *

Back inside the house, the Aboriginal woman had not moved from her spot. Hearing the car drive away, she called out behind her.

"If you're here to kill me, then do so. And quickly. I've waited far too long to join my ancestors."

"As you wish, Swiftcurrent," replied the figure behind her. The man, as she could tell by his voice, stepped closer, close enough to strike.

"I do not go by that name anymore," she responded, fiddling with a cigarette stub. "I hope he kills you," she continued in a bored tone, as if she were reading from a newspaper. "I hope he finds and kills you first. You do not deserve to be one of us."

"I am not the one who renounced their heritage," he answered in her ear before an obsidian knife sliced through the veins in her neck. As she lay bleeding on the floor, accepting her death, he stood over her, his dark hair hanging in his face. "And it is _he_ who does not deserve to be one of us."

It wouldn't be until a week after her funeral that Matthew would find out that Ms. Sarah Parkson of Kingston, Ontario had been murdered, and that her murderer was still on the loose. A friend of Ms. Sarah, who had called herself Chantal, had found her address book while she had been cleaning out the woman's house, and decided to call everyone on the list to make sure they knew.

Ironically, the ceasefire between the United States and North Vietnam had been announced just a few days after her death. It seemed that Fate had a cruel and unusual sense of humour: celebrating the end of one war with the baptism of a new one. Except this time, there could be no ceasefire, no measure of peace no matter how shaky. Only one nation was going to survive this new war, and Matthew sure hoped that it would be him.

-{ * }-

Notes

1973: This is the year this section takes place.

Ceasefire in Vietnam: On January 15th, 1973, President Nixon announced a ceasefire between the United States and North Vietnam. On January 27th, 1973, the Paris Peace Accords were signed, thus ending direct American involvement in Vietnam.

A Note From Blaklite: The only thing I really want to comment on in this section that really only just dawned on me is that Matthew's position resembles that of the Métis. The Métis have long struggle to find their place in Canada, especially in the history of Canada, being that they are descended from both Aboriginal and European lines. They have long been considered half-breeds (and continue to be seen as such in many areas) by both those of European descent and Aboriginal descent, belonging in neither camp despite being the kin of both. As a Métis myself, I have experienced this sense of not belonging first hand, being told by people of European descent that I'm not really "one of them" because of my Native heritage, and similarly by Native people. I suppose the moral here is just to remember that for every two-sided coin, there's a third side making up the edge that attaches, and yet is considered insignificant by both sides.


	10. Deserted

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Nine: Deserted

Perhaps England should have granted Canada independence sooner…

"Please, Dad, don't leave me…" pleaded the Canadian.

"It's for your own good, Matthew. Now, let. Go!"

"But I'm too young for independence!"

"Your brother won his independence over TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO!"

"Alfred's an idiot. Besides, you're the one who always describes him as a 'young, reckless, and irresponsible brat. I should never have given him his independence' etc., etc."

"…Yes, well, your brother is a different case. Release my foot, Matthew!"

"Nooooooo!" cried the Canadian, who was dragged somewhat along the ground. The Englishman had stopped by Matthew's house to say his goodbyes before he left with the Queen back to Europe. He had made it halfway to the door when the Canadian had latched on to his right ankle, effectively pinning him in place. Matthew was surprisingly heavy for his size, as it turned out.

"Matthew, I must leave. _Please_ let go," asked a very frustrated Arthur. Upon seeing Matthew's expression change from mock distress to genuine worry and uncertainty, England felt most of his anger dissolve. Gently tugging his foot free, Arthur knelt in front of the Canadian sprawled out on the floor, tilting his chin so he would look the Brit in the eye.

"Look, Matthew. You're responsible, competent, and trustworthy. But it's about time you flew the nest. Besides, you know you've been handling everything yourself for the past few decades. Hell, even long before that. The Canada Act just makes it official. And it's not like I'm completely leaving you on your own. Elizabeth is still your monarch, after all."

Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Matthew responded slowly with hope in his voice, "So…you'll stay?"

England smiled back at him broadly. "Of course not, lad. Now, I really must be going." Letting go of Canada's chin so that his head slammed into the floor, Arthur quickly got to his feet and out of Matthew's reach before calling out from the open doorway. "I'll visit soon to check on how you're coping. Toodles!"

As England made his escape, Matthew looked on from his position on the floor. He was on his own now. Of course, he'd always been on his own, but now he was REALLY on his own.

England had always been an unknowing barrier protecting Matthew from the man who swore to kill him. And now, with Arthur gone…Matt's chances were looking slim, indeed.

* * *

"The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout. Down came the rain, and washed the spider out. Up came the sun, and dried up all the rain. And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again…"

"Sir, she's doing it again," the large man whined before taking matters into his own hands. "Yo, stop being creepy over there."

Suddenly, a pair of jet black eyes, so dark one could barely distinguish iris from pupil, were trained upon the man. Despite his superior size and strength, he shrunk back from that alien gaze.

"Is the big, bad bison _scared_?" she asked, her facial expression remaining an emotionless mask.

Feeling something on his arm, the large man looked to his left and noticed a large, black spider crawling its way up to his shoulder. Jumping from his stone chair, the man swatted at the creature, only to have it disappear in a cloud of black smoke. A giggle could be heard from across the room.

"That's enough, Darkspinner," another voice cut in, silencing everything else in the room. All three pairs of eyes rested on the man sitting at the head of the stone table. "Any news from Firebeak, Suneater? And sit down, Stonefist."

Returning to his seat slowly, the burly, orange-eyed man cast a wary glance at the girl sitting on the ground near the far wall of the cave.

Closing her eyes and concentrating, a woman with short, black hair responded to the query a moment later as if relaying a message no one but her could hear. "Yes. He says that the green-eyed paleface has just left the traitor's house. Our traitorous brother has been left without allies, my chief."

"Ooooo, does this mean we get to play now?" the girl asked in a sing-song voice. The other figures in the cave likewise had the same general question on their mind.

"No. Not yet. We will wait and watch, and strike at the opportune moment," their leader proclaimed. "Now go. You will all be summoned in due time."

As all but the figure at the head of the table shuffled out of the cave, the man allowed a devious smile to grace his features. _Enjoy your days while you can, Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon. For these are your last.

* * *

_

Matthew couldn't believe what he was about to do. But he was desperate, and his despair was driving him to look for alternative options he otherwise wouldn't search for. As the Meeting was called to an end, Matthew leaned over and whispered in his brother's ear, "We need to talk."

Though his smile never left his face, Alfred glanced over at his brother with concern in his eyes. He nodded his head once when he noticed how serious Canada appeared.

The two North American brothers remained absolutely still in their seats as nations ambled their way from the room. When the last stragglers were leaving also, the pair heard a confused England ask, "Where's America? It's not like him to actually be unnoticeable…"

"Calme-toi, cher. 'e's probably just already at ze nearest MacDo," France responded, dragging the puzzled Englishman out of the room with him.

"I suppose you're right, Fran-HANDS TO YOURSELF, GIT! WE'RE IN PUBLIC!"

After the brothers had been left sufficiently alone, America let out a breath he'd been holding as Canada slumped forward in his seat.

"I don't know how ya do it, Matt, disappearing in front of a whole room of nations every time we have a meeting."

"Yes, well, next time, make yourself disappear," the Canadian huffed out, fighting back an oncoming headache.

"You know I don't have nearly as much talent at that stuff as you do. Besides, the world needs to know I'm still around, otherwise no one will sleep soundly at night."

Matthew made an exasperated noise at that statement. Turning to look at him with his biggest smile, Alfred continued, "So, what do ya need to talk about, Mattie?"

"There's a war coming, Alfred." The lighthearted mood dropped from the room like a bird falling out of the sky. "I have no doubts about it. He's out for blood, and he won't stop until he gets it. Please, Al, I need your help."

America hated to hear his brother sound so desperate. But still he couldn't. He swore he'd never go back, not after…

"I'm sorry, Matt," Alfred apologized, averting his gaze from those pained violet eyes. Standing up, Alfred made his way to the door of the conference room.

"He's going to kill me, Al," Matthew called out, standing as well. "Are you just going to stand aside and watch your brother die?"

Pausing with his hand of the doorknob, Alfred turned his head to look at the other blond. "That's impossible, Matt. Dead nations can't kill living ones." The look in his brother's eyes said otherwise. "…Oh my God, there's…a way?" Alfred asked, eyes going wide.

"There is a way," Matthew answered, his voice remaining still. "Do you see now why I'm so desperate?"

"Matt, I…I want to help you, you know I do. The last thing I want is for you to die, but…I can't go back."

"What happened happened centuries ago, Alfred. It's about time you let go of the past," Canada growled angrily.

"I can't let go! Not after what I did…"

"Freeborn wouldn't want you living this way, Al. And neither would she want you to abandon your kin!"

Saying nothing, America stood there for a few long seconds before wrenching open the door and swiftly leaving the room.

"Alfred!" Matthew yelled as the door closed, but it was no use. His brother was gone.

And he was alone.

-{ * }-

The Canada Act: Passed in 1982 by British Parliament, this act terminated Canadian dependence on the United Kingdom.

Monarchy of Canada: The sovereign of the United Kingdom is likewise the sovereign of Canada, along with fifteen or so other countries. Though the sovereign still retains certain powers, today in Canada the monarch is seen mostly as a titular figure. The monarch does retain the power to veto laws, but has rarely (if ever) gone against decisions made by the government of Canada.

The Meeting: I know that the World Meetings are supposed to involve the world, but the Meeting mentioned here is not a World Meeting. Though the Soviet Union was beginning to collapse, in the early 80s things were still rocky between the West and the Soviets. Therefore, this Meeting would have involved only the NATO countries, and other allies.

MacDo: It's what French people (in France, at least) call McDonald's. Trust me, I've been there, I know. And for the record, it's just as greasy there as it is in North America…

A Note From Blaklite: Just as a note, the third section also takes place in 1982, but some months after the first two sections.

I've seen some people write stories where the Canada Act is a moment of muted celebration and pride for Matthew, or even a breaking away from Arthur similar to Alfred's leaving before the American Revolution (as is also often depicted). However, to me it's neither of these things. I have the sense that Matthew would have been clingy; after all, Canada held on to colonial-like ties to the United Kingdom for how long? Even after achieving almost total independence? I get the sense that Matthew enjoys being independent, while having that safety net there for him (kinda like today's twenty-eight year olds still living in their parents' basements). I'm sure in today's world, Matthew would have no resentment for the separation, and even be proud of himself for finally being fully independent. But taking that leap is always the hardest.


	11. Terminus

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

Quick Note: For the italicized section underneath, I was largely inspired by the song Leave No Man Behind that appears on the Black Hawk Down soundtrack. It's not a requirement, but I would suggest listening to the song while reading that section. Or listening to the song in general. It's quite beautiful.

-{ * }-

Chapter Ten: Terminus

It had gotten to the point where he just couldn't take it anymore. He missed the days when everyone forgot he was there. Mind you, most of them still forgot, it was only a few who wouldn't fucking _leave him alone_.

Recently, those few people entailed Arthur and Alfred. And no, they didn't keep calling him because they loved him. NAFTA was to come into effect in a month, thus creating a rival trading bloc with the newly renamed European Community. Arthur, as part of the latter, kept trying his hardest to dissuade Matthew, and get him to talk his new Prime Minister Jean Chrétien out of it. Alfred was constantly there making sure he didn't back down, hiding the real purpose to his visits by claiming that since they were so economically close now, it was just obligatory that they would spend more time together.

Suffice to say, after getting thirty messages in a single day, Matthew stopped answering his phone. After being _visited_ twice a day for two weeks straight, he packed up his shit, tossed Kuma in the car, and drove up north. He reached his house in Temagami in four hours; come on, it's not like anyone _else_ followed the speed limit…And he only honked the horn at one person the entire drive this time.

After unpacking and warming up the house, Matthew was finally able to get a moment's peace and quiet. But the silence of the house wasn't what he needed. Peeking into the living room as he put on his coat, Matthew decided against waking up Kumajirou who was sleeping soundly beside the wood stove. Smiling, Canada didn't even bother to lock the door when he left.

Picking a random direction, Matthew walked into the snowy forest. The weather had turned cold enough to allow a thin layer of snow to cover the floor of the forest at all times, along with the branches of the bare deciduous trees and the boughs of the evergreens. Light grey clouds rolled slowly across the sky above the holey canopy. The only sound to be heard was the crunch of snow beneath Matthew's boots. It was perfect.

He eventually ended up on top of a large rock that crested from the earth like a gentle, rolling hill. In summer, it probably looked almost like a hill thanks to the patches of moss that had grown (and frozen) to it. Looking out over the treetops, he could vaguely spot a large white area that was probably a lake already beginning to freeze over.

Matthew stood there for a moment longer overlooking the winter scene before extending his arms out to his sides and falling backwards. He landed in the snow with a soft thud, his eyes turned towards the heavens for a few long minutes before closing to better enjoy the silence. Which he did before a giggle resounded in his head…

"_Nightflower! Nightflower! Come outside!"_

"_Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon, what did I say?"_

_Rolling his eyes, the five year old version of Matthew began anew in a mocking tone. "Walker-of-the-Steep-Path, may you please come outside for a moment?"_

_The woman chuckled. "Such sass, little one. Alright, I'll be with you shortly."_

_The young-looking Aboriginal woman couldn't keep a smile from her face as she watched the golden-haired boy run out of the wigwam with unparalleled enthusiasm. Putting down the moccasin she'd been stitching and donning some heavier clothing, Nightflower exited the structure in search of her young ward._

_He was spotted easily enough just a few meters away trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. Finally noticing the woman, he shouted, "Look, Nightflower! It's snowing again!"_

_Said woman shook her head. It had been snowing on and off everyday for the past three days, though Matthew seemed to treat every new snowfall as if it were the first. She remained entertained every time._

"_Yes it is, little one. And you know what that means?" Matthew paused in his twirling to look at her, confusion written on his face. "It means…" she said, advancing on him. "That soon the snow will be so deep that I'll be able to toss you into it and run while you struggle to get out, thereby ridding myself of your nuisance forever!" she exclaimed, lunging at him and managing to pick him up around the middle as he turned to run away. The pair laughed and laughed as they spun around, eventually getting too dizzy and collapsing onto the snowy ground beside each other._

_They watched the snowflakes dance about as they fell from the sky in silence before Matthew stated with a certainty only children seem to have, "When I'm bigger, I'm going to be just like you, big sister."_

"_This is not the life you want, little one," she said softly, as if a sadness was pressing down on her._

"_But big sister is so strong, and I want to be strong, too. And…I've seen how sad big sister gets when she returns from a Hunt…"_

_Matthew did not look at her when he felt her worried gaze on him. "Is that why you want to be a Hunter? Because you want to take over for me?" Nodding slowly, Matthew still refused to look at her. Letting out an audible sigh, she continued. "The path of a Hunter is not an easy one to tread, Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon. You will be lonely, you will hate your life, and you will wish for death on several occasions. There is no reward to be had from this task, as necessary as it is. Are you sure you want this?"_

_Turning to stare determinately into her serious deep blue eyes, Matthew nodded once. She seemed to be calculating if he was truly prepared for this life before she was getting up, and dusting the snow off herself. Holding out her hand for Matthew to take, she said with a smile, "We will commence tomorrow, then. But for now, I think a little supper is in order, don't you think Frostshock?"_

_At that, he smiled and nodded vigorously, holding out his own hand to grasp hers. _

As the memory faded, Canada opened his eyes to find himself reaching out towards the sky, his hand closed around nothing as tiny snowflakes began to descend from their lofty castles. A few tears that had escaped his notice had already begun to freeze to his skin. He wiped them away, as if doing such would make his sadness disappear as well.

_You were right, Nightflower. But at least now you do not suffer._

A rustle sounded off behind him, almost too quiet to hear. Jumping to his feet, Matthew turned around just in time to see a lynx leaping for his throat…

* * *

Grumbling under his breath, Arthur just turned up the heat in his car as he drove along Highway 11. It felt like he had been driving forever, and there was nothing to look at but trees, rocks, grey skies, and the occasional small town. Don't get him wrong, all this free space was a great relief from the shoulder-to-shoulder life in Europe, if not a little overwhelming. But that didn't make watching pine tree after pine tree go by anymore fun. He had long given up on the radio after he discovered that half the stations were country, and the other half was shit.

Arthur had arrived at Matthew's house in Ottawa earlier that day only to discover that the lad wasn't there. He had knocked several times, rung the doorbell twice as much, and had been about to leave and come back later when he noticed fresh foot AND paw prints leading up to where Matthew's car should have been (and where Arthur's car currently was). That was odd since Canada didn't usually bring his bear with him in public, seeing as it was a little suspicious to find someone carrying a diminutive _bear_, and animals of any species weren't generally allowed in most stores.

No, the pair had definitely relocated, and there was only place Arthur knew that they would go that was far enough away from Ottawa, and yet close enough for an emergency. And it likely wasn't Montréal this time since things were a little tense between Matthew and Québec right now. (A shame really, because England was rather in a mood to go out and party. But there were more important matters to deal with first, like finding his son.)

And so, Arthur found himself driving north when most sane people drove south this time of year. Pleased as punch, he was.

When at last he parked his little rental car in the snowy driveway, Arthur wasted no time in getting his frozen ass inside the house. As expected, the door had been left unlocked, meaning Matthew was around somewhere. As he hung his coat up and shuffled out of his winter boots, Arthur thought it rather odd that the young nation hadn't popped his head around the corner yet to greet him. Hating to be rude, the Canadian always went to check the front entrance whenever he heard the door open and close. Unless it was Alfred. Matthew always knew when Alfred showed up, if anything because the other brother would always slam the door shut and shout something along the lines of "Fear not! The Hero has arrived!" before raiding the fridge. Only after would he search for the younger brother whose house he had invaded rather loudly.

And so, with distant memories of a similar situation cropping up in the back of his mind, Arthur carefully made his way through the halls. But this time, there was no Matthew, battered or unharmed, to be found. Just the little white bear walking round and round in circles in the middle of the living room.

"Kuma-errr, whatever? Where's Matthew?"

Stopping in his progress to take a good look at the Englishman before turning his head towards the window, the bear replied. "Outside, and alone." The bear looked at him once more. "I am worried."

Oh, Arthur did not like the way the bear said that. But he had to keep his head, had to push down the slowly rising panic. "Me too. Perhaps we should go looking for him?"

The bear nodded and together the two began to track down the missing nation by scent and sight. Luckily for Arthur, the snow had not yet become thick enough to conceal all of Matthew's tracks.

Jogging through the snow, the pair came to a stop when a breeze rolled in, carrying a new scent to the bear's nose. Arthur adjusted his grip on the hunting rifle he had taken from the Canadian's cottage as Kuma sniffed at the air, turning his head this way and that. Suddenly, the bear leapt forward, charging full tilt in the direction he knew both his master and the stranger lay. Arthur was likewise forced to run full force in order to keep up with the bear.

_Something's wrong…_

Kumajirou, who had been running in front of Arthur, stopped quickly as he looked out over the curve of the rock they had reached. England did the same as he came to rest beside the bear. What he saw at first sent a jolt of fear through his being, only to be replaced slowly by anger.

On the rock stood a wolf, its snow white coat splattered with the red of blood, which was leaning over the body of…was that a dead lynx? Had Arthur glanced to his side, he would have noticed the expression of relief that the bear now sported at the sight of the wolf, bloody muzzle and all. But his gaze was focused at his target as he raised the gun and aimed for the beast's heart. In a split second of fate, the wolf raised its head and looked straight at Arthur as his finger closed around the trigger. Too late, Arthur recognized those unusual purple irises just as he felt the machine in his hands click. Nanoseconds later, the bullet was speeding through the air…

The _bang_ of the gun, resounding for a moment among the surrounding trees, was quickly replaced by the sound of a heart-wrenching yelp as Arthur watched the wolf, his son, collapse to the ground with a soft thump. After that, all sound but one fell deaf on the Brit's ears, all but the heavy _thud, thud, thud_ of his slowly panicking heart.

_My God…what have I done?_

-{ * }-

Notes

NAFTA: The North American Free Trade Agreement is an agreement that came into effect on January 1, 1994, creating a trade bloc between Canada, the United States, and Mexico. The purpose of NAFTA is to eliminate trade barriers, such as tariffs. NAFTA is a rival trading bloc to the European Community.

European (Economic) Community: The signing of the Treaty of Rome on March 25, 1957 allowed for the creation of the European Economic Community. Originally consisting of Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, France, Italy, and Germany, the EEC aimed to bring ties between countries closer through economy, and provide economic growth and stability through the adoption of common policies and the elimination of trade barriers. The United Kingdom joined the EEC on January 1, 1973. The EEC was renamed as the European Community in 1993.

Jean Chrétien: Chrétien became Canada's twentieth Prime Minister on November 4, 1993, just two months before NAFTA was to come into effect. Though he had promised to renegotiate NAFTA in his campaign, Chrétien instead negotiated two supplemental agreements.

Temagami: Located in northeastern Ontario, Temagami is a beautiful region and is especially popular for outdoors activities due to the surrounding provincial parks and Lake Temagami. The only reason people really go out there is to hunt, fish, canoe, visit the cottage, and other wilderness stuff.

***Rant Section***

Canadian drivers: Alright, I don't know what the rest of the world thinks about driving in Canada, but I can tell you from first hand experience that the LAST thing you ever want to do if you value your safety is let a Canadian drive. Anywhere. Even to the store. Don't let them.

First rule about driving in Canada: never drive at the speed limit. Always drive at least 9km/h over it, because this way you're still going fast enough but won't necessarily get nailed by a cop. Seasoned (and stupid) drivers will drive over the limit by 20-30km/h on highways.

The highways: Driving the highways in Southern Ontario is not that bad. You only have to contend with slow elderly drivers, speed-demons, and people who generally don't pay attention (70% of Canadians who drive). HOWEVER, driving in Northern Ontario is a whole different story when you're driving between two _massive cliffs of sharp rock_. Since they had to blast through the Canadian Shield to create the highways, and since most (read: all) of Northern Ontario is part of the Canadian Shield, there are lots of these rock formations just waiting to kill you. Trust me; you're more likely to die from hitting those rocks than by hitting a transport truck.

Road rage: Place even the shyest, meekest, most friendly Canadian in the driver's seat, and you will quickly see that person's dark side shine through. For some unknown reason, driving brings out the worst in Canadians, and instant road rage often results. No matter, never do ANYTHING to piss them off more (like pointing out that they missed a turn or that they have road rage).

These are only a few tips that will (hopefully) keep you alive in the event that you're in a car with a Canadian driving.

***Rant Ended***

Wigwam: A domed, Native American dwelling, the wigwam is a structure that can be found throughout tribes across North America, but is mostly known by the name wigwam in the northeast. The wigwam is not to be confused with the tipi, another Native American dwelling typically found on the Great Plains.

Moccasin: A moccasin is a type of shoe made from leather, often deer hide. It can be found throughout Native American cultures.

Canada Lynx: The Canada lynx is found throughout Canada and Alaska, but can sometimes be spotted in the northern United States. They are twice the size of house cats and share many characteristics with the Bobcat. Lynxes typically hunt snowshoe hare, though in Newfoundland, they have been reported to grow large enough to take down caribou.

Highway 11: The longest street in the world, Highway 11 (Yonge Street) is 1780 km (1110 miles) long. The highway/street begins in Toronto and ends in Rainy River, on the border between Ontario and Minnesota. The highway/street originally stretched from Toronto to North Bay. In 1927, construction was completed which extended the highway/street to Cochrane (north and east from Timmins). It would eventually reach Rainy River in the ensuing decades (and also finally be paved during this time).

Québec sovereignty movement: In 1980, Québec held a referendum on the proposal to pursue sovereignty which was defeated with 59.56% voting 'no' and 40.44% voting 'yes'. However, Québec in the later 1980s experienced a great shift in favour of sovereignty and greater pride in the Québec culture. In the 1995 referendum, 50.6% of votes were 'no' and 49.4% were 'yes', narrowly defeating the move towards sovereignty. Since then, many Québeckers have moved away from the idea of sovereignty.

A Note From Blaklite: Why are my Notes so long...? Anyways, Chapter Eleven reveals the answers to many of the questions you've all been wondering about.


	12. Truth

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Eleven: Truth

They were both fortunate that the bullet would never reach its intended resting place. The moment in which their eyes had met had alerted the wolf to its imminent danger, and allowed it to shift ever so slightly. The metal meant to kill had instead found itself lodged in the back leg of the wolf that had stumbled to the ground in pain thereafter.

Arthur was too stunned to speak. His mind was reeling, trying to understand the big picture he'd been given without any of the pieces that made it up. The image of purple eyes burned into his skull.

_M-matthew?_

Time seemed to slow as Arthur stood, still clutching the gun despite the fact that he could no longer feel his arms, or most of his body really. His wide emerald eyes remained glued to the wolf lying on the ground before him. His mind didn't register the impact of his feet on the snow-covered rock as he made his way closer to his son. Somewhere along the way, he must have blinked for the bloodied wolf was suddenly replaced by Matthew's naked and equally bloody form, huddled on his side with the gun wound showing. The wounds he had received in battle must have opened up with his transformation as new blood began to dot the snow around him. A light sprinkling of blood had already begun to dry on his lips and chin, a tell-tale sign of the damage he had wrought upon his enemy.

Arthur probably would have felt much more frightened had a number of factors not come into play: one, guilt from shooting his own son; two, Matthew was naked and huddled in the snow; and three, there was such primal fear in those violet pools that it was impossible for Arthur to feel at all threatened by someone who at that very moment had every right to believe that they were about to die at the hands of the person who should have been the fearful one in that scenario. Remorse and the need to care for the younger nation poured into England's soul before he could even further question the situation.

"Oh Matthew, I'm so sorry…" But as he took a step closer, the other, shaking blond shrunk back, his eyes moving away from Arthur's face only to look at him again a second later. Kumajirou, who had come to stand between his master and his master's assailant, growled lowly at Arthur.

"P-please…" the Canadian pleaded, bringing the Brit to a halt. He had never, _never_ heard Matthew use that frightened tone before. "Please don't k-kill me…"

A stab of pain hit the Englishman's heart at those words. How could Matthew think that he was going to kill him? Well, he _had_ shot the lad, but the last thing Arthur wanted to do was repeat that mistake. It was then that Arthur realized it wasn't the human side of Matthew that was afraid of him, but rather the wolf side that the lad was still in the midst of suppressing.

Following the Canadian's fearful eyes this time, Arthur realized that he was still holding on to the rifle. Tossing it aside, the Brit noticed the other nation visibly calm as those purple eyes tracked its descent through the air. Walking around the bear and kneeling, Arthur examined Canada's injuries, discovering that by far the gun wound was the worst of all.

"The bullet is still in there, Matthew, but I can't take it out until we get back to your house. Can you stand or do you need me to carry you?"

The Canadian scoffed despite the pain he was in. "I've survived far worse than this, Arthur. And had to walk further to get home afterwards, too." Gently, the blond pushed his upper body off the cold ground. "Could you grab my clothes? They're just over there." He indicated with a slight nod in the direction behind him.

"Of course," Arthur replied, glad to see that the younger was no longer afraid. It was as if a glimpse of a completely different Matthew had been allotted to him for but a split second in time before the veneer of the Canadian's everyday attitude, at least when dealing with the other nations of the world, had slipped back into place. Standing up to retrieve the articles which lay just beyond the gun he had discarded, the Briton was just a few steps away when a loud voice crashed through the trees.

"MURDERER!"

_Alfre-?_ As Arthur turned around, expecting to see the second North American nation, he was instead roughly shoved to the ground. Landing on his back, the European looked up to ascertain the nature of the object now pressing down on his chest only to come face-to-face with the snarling muzzle of a black-furred strangely blue-eyed coyote. Before he could react properly, Arthur felt more than saw the beast being dragged off his body.

Swiftly sitting upright, Arthur could do nothing but watch as the white wolf from before whom he now knew was Matthew tossed the black coyote across the snow by the scruff. Before the coyote had even come to a full stop, it was on its feet and lunging at the throat of the wolf. After that, the brief battle became a blur of white fur, black fur, and snapping teeth for the Briton. Arthur would have been lying if he said he hadn't been afraid for his own life, despite the fact that it wasn't he who was in immediate danger.

With a yelp, it was all over. The black coyote, feet in the air, large ears lowered, and tail tucked between its legs, was pinned under the body of the larger canine that stood above it. Long moments passed with no one daring to move or even to blink.

Finally, the coyote conceded and leaned up to lick at the side of the wolf's muzzle in apology. Moving aside, the white wolf took only a few steps before being forced to sit and remove the weight from his injured leg. Luckily, Matthew's other injuries were already beginning to heal, though slowly. The coyote, meanwhile, stood up and shook the snow out of its coat.

It was just then when Arthur began to not be able to take what was going on. Placing a hand over his eyes, he repeated to himself, _stay calm, Arthur, everything's alright. There's a perfectly understandable explanation for why these animals are actually Matthew and Al-_

"Arthur!"

The Englishman found himself on his back again before he knew what hit him. Actually, no, he knew very well what, more precisely _who_ had knocked him to the ground and winded him by sitting on his chest. He just didn't want to accept it.

Unfortunately, his more polite, gentlemanly side got the better of him. Removing his hand, Arthur looked up, unhappily, into the face of the ever-so-cheerful Alfred F. Jones. Except unlike the usual, Alfred wasn't wearing his glasses…or any clothes for that matter.

"Good day, Alfred. Will you kindly get the fuck off of me?"

"Sure thing, but first I wanted to say that I'm sorry for almost ripping out your throat just now. We still cool?"

Arthur honestly didn't really know what to say to that. He'd been in a lot of awkward and…unusual situations in the past, but this was definitely one of the top ten. "Ummm, yeah, sure, just get off. I can't breathe. And go get clothes for yourself and your brother. Both of you have a lot of explaining to do when we get back to the house."

* * *

"…So, you two are…shapeshifters."

"Skinwalkers, yes."

"Skinwalkers…" Arthur repeated, still adjusting to the new term and ultimately what it meant. After getting back to the cottage and patching up the boys (Alfred had received a few gashes from the battle, but nothing serious), Arthur had made them each a cup of tea and brought it up to Matthew's room. There, the Englishman and the American settled themselves in chairs on opposite sides of the bed that Canada would be occupying until his leg had healed enough to allow him to walk around without bleeding all over the nice wood flooring. It was then that the North American brothers had revealed their tale to the Brit.

The Americas had once been home to hundreds of small nations. It is unsure when exactly, but somewhere along the course of history, these earlier nations discovered the ability to change form. At will, they could change from human form to animal form in the blink of an eye. However, they were limited to a single form for each. In time, the nations were dubbed Skinwalkers, and were both respected and feared by humans. But with the arrival and expansion of the European colonists, the Skinwalkers and the tribes they represented began to die out. In North America especially, this crusade was most successful, eliminating the Aboriginal nations until too few were left to resist. Thousands of years of history were destroyed in a few short centuries, and two boys, underdogs and outsiders among their own kin, became the sole sovereign states of a continent once composed of a patchwork of cultures. The world would be forever changed for the Skinwalkers.

But they refused to go quietly. The Skinwalkers didn't disappear with their tribes. Rather, they lived on, but with no population to represent and no territory to rule, they were stripped of their nation status. As 'dead' nations, they would live on as semi-immortals, killable but not by old age or sickness. For many, it was a fate worse than death, to live on forever with no purpose. Countless suicides were committed. Still, others endured. Some sought revenge of some kind, but many more were driven insane and roamed the continent seeking target after target, victim after victim to satisfy their savage bloodlust and need for destruction after all the unity they had once stood for.

For this reason, the Hunters were created, Skinwalkers trained to kill their own kind before other, dangerous Skinwalkers could wreak havoc upon their world and the humans. Hunting had been around for almost as long as Skinwalkers walked the continent. The responsibilities of being a Hunter were both a great burden and a great honour to Skinwalkers. They had no choice but to seek and kill any Skinwalker guilty of crimes too great for their kind to ignore, often resulting in the direct murder of friends, relatives, even lovers. On the other hand, Hunters were seen to provide mercy for rogue Skinwalkers by killing them before they could harm the world they helped to build, the virtues they once followed, ultimately restoring some part of their sanity, some form of peace before dying.

The fall of the Skinwalkers as a whole also resulted in the fall of the Hunters. Like the rest of the Aboriginal nations, the Hunters likewise began to disappear until only two were left…

"Except _someone_ gave up on their roots," Matthew spat, glaring at his brother who was concentrating intently on his tea. Lifting his eyes back to Arthur, Matthew continued with pride, "I am the last true Hunter of the Skinwalkers."

And suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place for Arthur. "All those times you used to sneak out of the house, or apologize for not responding to my letters sooner, or suddenly disappear from the face of the earth, it was all because of these…Hunts?" A nod. "So that's what today was all about? And that time a century and a half ago when I found you injured in your house?"

England regretted asking that last question as he observed how Matthew refused to look up at him, tears beginning to form in his mauve eyes. But he had to know. It all seemed so…surreal.

"Today I was attacked by one of Brushfire's men. And that day after the Charlottetown Conference, I had gone off to find and defeat Granitetooth, one of our old elders. It seemed that he had finally snapped, and I knew that his soul would find no peace if he had hurt anyone in that state. I did what I had to do."

Placing his hand on Matt's forearm, Alfred looked up at his near twin with a small, sad smile and gave a gentle squeeze. The Canadian's smile was slightly forced, but nonetheless showed gratitude for his brother's concern. Arthur hated to break up the touching moment, but he wasn't through with his questioning.

"So then, if there are so few of these Skinwalkers today, it is no longer a large issue to deal with."

"Not exactly…There is one Skinwalker in particular that has continued to pose a threat. For some time now, he has been gaining support, building forces. I don't know the exact size of the group of followers he has amassed, but it is likely more than my own allies at this point…"

"You make it sound like he's going to wage war against you."

"He is." Arthur's expression was the perfect picture shock. "He's been waiting patiently for centuries for the perfect moment to exact his revenge. My instincts tell me that he will strike soon, and fast, giving me no time to retaliate. His reason for staying alive is just so he can have the satisfaction of killing me first."

"But…Matthew, you can't die. You're, well you're Canada, and this…antagonist is a 'dead' nation. It's impossible, 'dead' nations cannot kill 'living' ones."

"That's what I thought too for so long, but now I'm not so sure…"

Arthur looked around at both Canada and America, flabbergasted, panic rising. "W-what…?"

"There's a loophole," Alfred interjected on behalf of his brother. "The theory is that should a 'living' nation and a 'dead' nation exchange hearts, like literal hearts, the 'dead' nation would be revived and take over the country of the previously 'living' nation. Should Brushfire take over as Canada, Matthew will become a 'dead' nation, and be, therefore, killable."

England's wide-eyed stare shifted back to the injured Canada. "Matthew, why didn't you tell anyone? NATO would have protected you. Hell, it still can. We should call an emergency meeting…"

"No, Arthur," Matthew demanded softly, grabbing the Brit's arm to keep him seated in his chair. "NATO has no power in this issue. None of the other nations do. We Skinwalkers deal with our own; it's the way it's always been, and it's the way it'll end."

"Blast your stupid Skinwalker club. No son of mine shall die while I yet breathe!" Arthur declared, pushing back his chair as he quickly stood. A second later and Alfred was likewise standing, glaring at Arthur who caught his gaze and glowered back at him. Both silently dared each other to make the first move.

Matthew, who had no choice but to remain on the bed, brought a hand up to rub at his temples. "Arthur, Alfred, please sit down. Fighting won't help any."

Reluctantly, the pair slid back into their chairs, neither breaking eye contact. It was Alfred who spoke first of the two, but his words were not directed at the person he was staring down. "He doesn't understand, Matt. He never will." He used a harsher tone to address England. "You're not one of us, England, you just don't get it. These laws have been in place for longer than any of us has existed."

"You haven't been very good at being 'one of us' lately, Alfred, so who are you to reproach Arthur on our ways, eh?" Matthew scolded, resulting in the pouty sulk of his older brother, though the elder still kept a wary eye on the Brit. The Canadian then turned his attention to the Englishman. "He does have a point though, Arthur. These laws have been in place for millennia; were a Skinwalker to turn their back on them, it would be like turning your back on all Skinwalkers. Your aid would ensure my exile, and I would lose the support of what few Skinwalkers are on my side as well as whatever victory I may achieve."

Arthur felt utterly defeated now that he knew the facts. In trying to save Matthew from whatever fate was in store for him, England would only be risking his boy's life further. Ultimately the best course was to stand by and do nothing except pray, as much as he detested the idea. Glancing at Matthew's worried face, he realized he must have looked just as down-hearted as he felt.

"Matthew, I have no doubt you will see all this through. You're strong, and that strength is something you achieved all on your own." At least Arthur hadn't lost his fatherly touch over the decades and could still be a good (enough) motivator. He considered his brief mission a success by the way Canada smiled a bit.

Then there was America to deal with, who Arthur had caught rolling his eyes at the scene. "You there, you're coming with me. We'd best let Matthew get some sleep; he's had a long day." Walking over to Alfred and grabbing his arm, Arthur practically dragged the younger from the room with much verbal protest from the other blond. As the Englishman closed the door, he thought he heard a quiet giggle, and couldn't help but smile to himself.

-{ * }-

Notes

NATO: An acronym for North Atlantic Treaty Organization. NATO is a military alliance in which member countries have agreed to mutually defend each other from attack. Canada, the U.S.A. and the United Kingdom are all founding members.

A Note From Blaklite: At last! The secret revealed. Sorry it took so long. And yes, I _do_ know the original tales of the Skinwalkers. I'm simply applying artistic licensing for this story.


	13. Catalyst

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Twelve: Catalyst

Stupid ass of a brother. Why'd he have to go and let his people do that? Now they were all in recession, economies struggling to stay afloat amidst the financial chaos. It was a small miracle that he himself hadn't been dragged into it too badly. It just didn't feel that way to Canada at this moment in February as he felt his economy spiral downward.

For most nations, recessions were merely annoyances, depending on how bad of a recession it was. It weakened them, sapped their strength, but could not bring them down. And their citizens worked hard to find solutions and raise the GDP after a recession struck and set in. They were never in peril during a recession.

Except Matthew was already in peril, and the recession was starting to make him panic. He needed to be ready for an attack wherever and whenever it occurred, and he wouldn't stand much of a chance if he had to fight in a weakened state. He barely got any sleep anymore, on edge as he was. Matthew swore that if he didn't die first, he was going to kill his brother.

Arthur's presence didn't help him feel any safer. The Englishman had insisted he spend some time with Matthew just in case Brushfire did try an attack so that he could help defend against the enemy. But Arthur's economy was even worse off than his, and so instead of having someone around to protect him, Matthew instead got a mildly sick Brit that he was in the process of taking care of. That cough was nasty and only getting worse.

Luckily, nothing else was really wrong with the older man besides a general lack of strength. His brother, he'd been told, had been constrained to bed rest, and had been running a fever as of late.

So, essentially, Matthew was left without allies. He was weak, and paranoid, and jumpy. It was the perfect moment for a strike…

"Matthew!"

Said blond couldn't help but start at the sound of his name. His heart thumped in his chest as the adrenaline surged through his veins. Tightening his hold on the teapot, Matthew looked back to see Arthur standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling at the younger despite his best efforts not to.

"Ah, sorry, m'boy. Didn't mean to startle you. It was rather entertaining though, watching you jump ten feet in the air like that." Coming up beside Matthew's prone body, Arthur snatched a cup of tea from the counter, and moved to sit on one of the kitchen chairs. Taking a sip, he was well aware of the pair of violet eyes tracking his movements.

Putting the cup down, England sighed and walked back over to Matthew. Gently prying the tea pot from his hands, Arthur shooed the Canadian into a chair as he finished pouring the tea. He remembered to add two heaping spoons of sugar (Matthew had quite the sweet tooth) before stuffing the cup into the other blonde's nerveless hands, and sitting back down in his own seat.

"You need to relax, boy," Arthur stated matter-of-factly.

Matthew shot him a half-angry, half-distressed glare before answering, "How can I relax, Arthur? I might be attacked at any minute without a moment's notice."

"You don't know that."

"I could be dead tomorrow…"

"…You don't know that."

"So, you're worried, too."

England paused as he took a sip. "I'm worried that I won't be able to protect you."

"I don't need protecting, at least not from you. I mean, fuck, Arthur, look at yourself. You should be at home, recovering."

"Matthew, it doesn't matter where I am, this recession is still only going to get worse before it gets steadily better. Besides, home is where the heart is."

Canada looked at him, perplexed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my boy, that if anyone so much as gives you a paper cut, I will take that as a personal attack, and do all that is necessary to destroy that threat forever."

"…You're kinda scary when you're protective."

"So I've been told," Arthur stated calmly, taking another sip. Matthew couldn't help but smile, grateful that at least Arthur was on his side, and more than a tad glad that his father was here with him.

* * *

The knock came a week later. Arthur had been resting in the living room watching _Spider_ when it happened. The Englishman had long established the habit of stretching out on the couch in Matthew's living room in the afternoon to watch TV. He had recently gotten into the Canadian's movie collection (which, by the way, had its own closet filled floor to ceiling with shelves of DVDs and VHS categorized by country of origin in alphabetical order) after losing interest in re-runs and infomercials. Matthew usually used this time to get through some paperwork, which Arthur _should_ have also been doing, but it wasn't often that he got to use the excuse that he was sick. Might as well enjoy the break while he could, even if it caused him to nearly cough up a lung every once in a while.

The knock changed all this, however, as the laid back atmosphere immediately became one of tenseness and fear. Arthur reached the hallway just as Matthew reached the bottom of the stairs. They looked to each other, but said nothing, reading the other's thought and feelings in their eyes. Another knock, polite, calm, unhurried. They would have known if it was Alfred (the whole house shook when the American came calling), and Francis usually called ahead of time (after that whole mess with Québec, Canada wasn't taking chances). Slowly, the blondes approached the door.

Matthew's hand stayed on the door handle for a long time, long enough that England believed for a brief moment that he was simply going to wait for whoever was out there to disappear before letting go and returning to his work. An instant later he seemed to summon up his courage, and, calmly, he opened the front door.

"Good afternoon, Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon. May we enter?" asked a tall, lithe woman with short dark hair, and sun kissed skin.

"No, you may not, Suneater," Matthew responded coldly.

"Come now, dear brother. Are you just going to leave your sisters out in the cold?" The owner of that mocking tone, Arthur observed, belonged to a little girl with long black hair and the most unsettling pair of eyes he'd ever encountered. Her smile caused shivers to creep up his spine.

"Neither of you are welcome in my house so long as I still breathe." England could not imagine another time that he had ever heard the Canadian speak with such venom.

"That can be arranged…" the little girl stated almost as if with glee, her petite body unconsciously shifting into a pose better braced to strike or parry an attack. Arthur noticed Matthew narrow his eyes at the girl, his knuckles going white on the doorknob as he emanated a low growl. The pair seemed about ready to lunge at each other, but thankfully the woman, Suneater, intervened. Arthur doubted he would have been able to successfully keep the situation from exploding.

"May I suggest, instead, a duel? Tonight, when the moon is high."

Shifting that wrathful gaze to the woman, the two tallest Skinwalkers present stared unmoving into each other's eyes before some invisible weight was lifted from everyone's shoulders. Arthur exhaled a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Fine," was all Matthew said, a clear dismissal. Turning their backs after a finally glance, and a creepy smile from the girl, the pair walked back down the street. Matthew watched them go until they were out of sight, closing the door with surprisingly little force.

A long moment of silence passed between father and son, both unsure what words, if any, could be spoken after such a display. Instead, the Canadian simply turned around and headed back upstairs to his office without even acknowledging the other blond. Arthur spent an extra minute standing in the hallway, dread seeping into his soul.

* * *

It was dark when they left. Then again, it had been rather gloomy and overcast all day, and the sun had fallen around 17:00, so it really wasn't much of a feat that they left when it was dark. Matthew drove them out to the middle of nowhere it seemed, and Arthur seriously doubted that Matthew even knew where he was going. The mysterious woman hadn't said anything after all. But the boy insisted he knew what he was doing. He certainly looked determined and sure, but Arthur noticed how his hands shook at the wheel. Kumajirou fidgeted in the backseat.

They drove out to the end of a barely ploughed farm line where Canada simply stopped the car and parked. No one would be out here this late in the winter. Before getting out, Matthew looked back to the bear. Some understanding seemed to pass between them though no words were spoken for a few long moments. Finally, Matthew commanded, "Guard the car," and the two nations disembarked from the vehicle to take their first nervous steps into the forest.

As they plodded through the trees, England remarked that the ground was starting to slant downhill. This made the going a bit easier with the thick snow curling around their ankles. It was a cold night, a slight wind beginning to pick up. Arthur was worried that a snowstorm may have blown in under the cover of darkness.

On they trudged through the cold snow and thick trees, until at last they came upon a wide, open space, relatively circular in shape. At first, Arthur mistook it as a clearing, but as he stepped into it, he found that the ground beneath its white blanket of snow pushed back against his feet. It was not a clearing of grass they were in. It was the icy surface of a small lake.

They walked until they reached about the middle of the lake. They were left to wait for just a little under three minutes before two figures emerged from the woods in front of them. It was the two Skinwalkers from before, the calm yet serious woman, and the girl with the persistent smile.

"So you've come, Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon. Unusual for a coward to stand instead of run," jeered the little girl.

"I am no coward," Matthew stated, though he seemed to waver slightly as if some terrible memory had been resurfaced.

"No? Then why didn't you fight when _his_ kind came across the ocean?" She pointed accusingly at England, her tone becoming serious and angry. "Why didn't you unite the tribes?"

"And how was I to do that if none of you even recognized my birthright? I did what I thought was best, and chose peace…" It was clear in his voice that he still doubted that decision to this day.

In response, the girl with long dark hair spat on the snow, her furious gaze aimed at Canada. "The Great Mother is who should have made the decision, the _right_ decision. But she couldn't, now could she, being dead and all."

"Darkspinner…" warned the tall woman, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

Shrugging her off, Darkspinner took a step forward before continuing her verbal barrage. "And why? Because _you_ killed her. You killed your own mother!"

"ENOUGH!"

As if Matthew's angered shout wasn't abnormal enough, Arthur saw something happen that he'd never seen before, mostly because it wasn't possible. A large spike made of what he was sure was ice shot up from the snow, and attempted to impale Darkspinner. Her reflexes were fast enough to side step out of the way of danger, even as another spike from her other side shot up. The first had disappeared by then, disintegrated into nothingness. Arthur was sure he was seeing things, if it wasn't for the fact that it appeared that everyone else could. His mind demanded that he demand answers, but soon all that was on his mind was _ow-fist-in-the-face_, and he was staggering back to recover from the blow.

"Filthy European!" the second woman yelled, aiming a punch for his face again, which he just managed to dodge. "This is all. Your. Fault!" She accented each of those last words with a kick. Arthur was able to block the first two, but the third, executed faster than the others, caught him off guard and hit him in the gut, sending him flying backwards a few feet. He slid across the ice on his back, collecting a fair bit of snow down his jacket at the same time, before finally skidding to a stop.

"Alright," he muttered under his breath, in the process of getting up when he saw Suneater charging at him with a knife in her hand. "Now I'm pissed." Pushing himself off the ground, he brought his leg up to swing around and hit the Native woman's arm out of the way before she could stab him. This also sent the dark blade into the shallow snow, both immortals watching as it fell a small ways away.

Deflecting a fist aimed for his jaw, Arthur countered with a few jabs himself. Their fight was a flurry of fists and feet, hits and misses. Arthur did manage to get in a kick to her ribs, and a jab at her collarbone, before she elbowed him in the nose, and caught him in the back of the knee. This sent him sprawling onto the ice once more, this time with a vicious Skinwalker on top of him whose hands were around his neck. In earlier centuries, he might have considered it hot, but he was old, and tired, and the recession was wearing down his strength.

"It's all your fault we're all like this," Suneater said, as England struggled to push her off. "Had the white man not come-"

Catching a glimpse of a dark spot amidst the snow, Arthur reached out, but the knife was just beyond his reach. His vision was starting to fade.

"-had Eyes-of-the-Violet-Moon and Eyes-of-the-Sapphire-Sun not been corrupted by your promises, your _lies_-"

His fingers brushed the handle, so close, so close…

"-my brethren and I wouldn't be fighting for our lives ba-AHHH!"

The Englishman had managed to grasp the weapon just as he had begun to black out. Wasting no time, he stabbed the obsidian blade through the woman's right arm. She retreated back onto her shins immediately, clutching at the gaping hole in her arm where he'd stabbed right through tissue and muscle. This gave Arthur the opening he needed to shove her off, stand up, and search for Matthew.

Closer to the forest's edge, the Brit spotted a most unnatural sight. A shield of snow flurries on an otherwise clear night obscured his vision of Matthew and the little witch. He couldn't see what they were doing, couldn't tell if Matthew needed his help, and this worried him to no end.

"Matth-oof!" A foot to his kidneys was the only reminder he needed that he still had business to deal with before he could go help his son. "You want my attention, bitch?" He asked, turning around swiftly, and catching her fist in his hand. She still resembled the picture of controlled fury, yet he swore he saw a glimmer of surprise in her pale green eyes. Just as well, he was starting to feel his old Empire self itching under his skin. "Well, you got it."

* * *

They stood on opposites sides of the classroom, Matthew with his back to the blackboard, and Darkspinner at the back of the class. It was an old room, definitely from the late 1800s. Christian memorabilia was littered throughout the room: crosses, candles with images of various saints on them, a painting of the Virgin Mary. A portrait of dear Queen Victoria hung on the wall behind Matthew, and outside the Union Jack shifted on a delicate spring breeze.

"I find it curious that you'd pick such a place as your execution chamber," Matthew stated indeed with some surprise before his tone saddened for his next lines "Do you hate me so much that you would equate me with such a place?"

"You stand for everything in this world I despise," Darkspinner spat venomously.

Letting his mournful gaze fall to the wooden boards of the floor, Matthew mumbled out apologetically, "I never meant for things to be this way. I didn't think-"

"That we would come back and demand what is ours?"

"I didn't think you'd have to."

The girl merely scoffed at his words. "Spare me your half-hearted apologies, and kill me already. It would be a welcome reprieve from being in your disgusting presence, traitor."

Slowly and carefully, the blond began to cross the room towards her as if she were some wild animal he was trying not to scare off. At first it seemed she would not try to resist, accepting her defeat as it was. As he crossed the first half of the room, the Canadian was quickly proven wrong.

The little Native girl only just managed to reach for the door, wrench it open, and sprint out into the hallway before a pair of wolf's jaws snapped shut behind her. Down the hallway her moccasined feet pounded, the sound of claws scraping against wood in close pursuit. If only she could make it to the doors…

A rough tug on her pant leg sent her sprawling to the ground. She lay there face down awaiting her death as the wolf manoeuvred to stand before her. When nothing happened, she looked up into the face of the White Wolf. She'd been taught to hate this being, but feared him just as much. The Hunter who tracked down his own kind.

"Frostshock…"

_I was going to give you a choice, Finder-of-Hidden-Places. But I see now that you would never accept it, even under pain of death._ The wolf moved closer, and the girl fully expected those sharp teeth to descend around her neck, slicing open her major arteries. Instead, she felt a cold nose touch her left arm just below the shoulder. _Deliver this message to my old teacher, and live to fight another day._

After he had walked past her, Darkspinner felt the presence of the other Skinwalker disappear from her mind. Confused, she tried to push herself off the floor, but found her left side uncooperative. Then the pain set in.

And she screamed.

-{ * }-

Notes

GDP comparisons: When the Economic Crisis hit in 2008, its effects were felt around the world, and were reflected in GDP growth rates. By the third quarterly, the growth rates of both the U.S.A. and the U.K. had plummeted into the negatives, bouncing back into the positives only in the third quarterly of 2009. In the quarters following, both of these growth rates experienced fluctuations, and were generally lower than growth rates before the crisis. In Canada, the crisis came later, hitting hardest in the first quarterly of 2009. By the third quarterly of 2009 and thereafter, Canada was already experiencing growth rates that were persistently higher than growth rates before the crisis.

_Spider_: Based on a novel of the same name by British writer Patrick McGrath, _Spider_ is a Canadian film made in 2002. It's a psychological thriller about a schizophrenic man who tries to piece together a major event from his childhood. It explores themes such as the unreliability of memory, and the blurring of reality and imagination. Generally, critics have responded positively. I've never seen it myself, though it does sound interesting and I have heard of it before.

Residential schools: The residential school system began in Canada in the 1840s for the purpose of assimilating Aboriginal children into European-Canadian society. Children were often kidnapped from their homes, or their families were coerced into giving up their children else face prison. By 1884, it became law for Aboriginal children less than 16 years of age to attend residential schools. In the schools, children were punished for speaking their language and practicing their faiths. Physical and sexual abuse was common. Overcrowding, poor sanitation, and a lack of medical care led to death rates sometimes as high as 69%. Some children went years without seeing their families. Compulsory attendance did not end until 1948, and the last school was closed in 1996. The Canadian residential school system is considered to have been part of an institutionalized, systematic cultural genocide.

The cultural genocide continues to this day.

(As an added bonus, the Apartheid system was inspired by how the Canadian government conducted ethnocide against the Aboriginal peoples.)

A Note From Blaklite: For those of you who have stuck around, I cannot apologize enough. For the longest time after writing Chapter Eleven, I was suffering writer's block when it came to this story. I knew (and still know) where I wanted to take it, but how to get there? I must have re-written this chapter a dozen times, trying to get it to finally sound right. It remains, in my opinion, rather incomplete. But I feel that the story must continue, no matter what. Perhaps I'll go back and change this chapter again someday. For now, this will have to do.

Thank you, **Its-Lofty**, for convincing me that the show must go on.


	14. Frostbitten

**Lament of the Wolf**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Thirteen: Frostbitten

England and Suneater had been wrestling for control of the knife when the wind fuelling the shield of snow suddenly died, snowflakes dancing calmly back to the surface of the frozen lake completely oblivious to the fight for life going on around them. The pair stopped their grappling to stare at the two figures standing perfectly still in the cold night air. Nothing happened for quite some time, neither fighter daring to move or break their gaze from the Skinwalkers some ways off.

Suddenly, the girl's left arm began to drain of colour, becoming more and more violet before starting to go black.

"NO!" cried Suneater, shoving the Brit away from herself and running for her injured comrade. Taken aback, Arthur was forced to shift his feet to regain his footing before making a beeline himself for Matthew.

He only just managed to catch the younger as he swayed on his feet, returning to the world of the living. The Canadian was breathing heavily, as if he'd just run a race at full tilt.

"It's…been…awhile since…I duelled…"

A cry of pain sounded out from where the two women sat, Suneater cradling Darkspinner who was cradling her frostbitten arm. When Suneater turned to look at the two pale men, they could see all her hate, all her fear and loathing laid bare in those pale green eyes.

"Stonefist!" she called out into the forest behind her. Arthur immediately felt Canada tense up and try to stand straight. He found out why a moment later when a large bison came barrelling through the trees and charged directly at them.

Panicking, the Englishman tried to pull his son along to facilitate their escape. But the younger blond refused to move, glaring at the approaching tank-on-hooves with uncharacteristic determination.

"Move, Matthew!" Arthur demanded, yet still the blond did not move. Desperately, the elder pulled at the Canadian's arm, receiving a rough shrugging off in the process. All the while the bison got closer and closer until Arthur was sure they were both going to die a horrible, bloody death.

That was until this great white blur fell from the sky to land in front of them. With its back to them, it faced the charging beast and forced it to a halt. It was the very picture of death, so skinny its bones showed through where there was no fat or muscle to hide them, chunks of flesh rotting and bleeding all across its scarred body. It stood at least twenty feet tall, though it was hunched over at the shoulders. An unusual creature, for the most part it was a deer, antlers sharpened to points, reddish brown coat matted with blood. It had the muzzle and teeth of a wolf, its forearms human in nature but ending in large, clawed hands. It stood on puma-inspired back legs, and boasted the tail of an otter.

Arthur had only ever heard stories from settlers of a beast that haunted the wilds of Canada. A beast that killed mercilessly, and without warning, striping bodies clean, turning all that looked upon it insane. The Algonquin peoples had called it the Wendigo, the spirit of death and decay, famine and winter.

And it certainly was terrifying.

Luckily, it appeared to be on their side. The creature let loose a terrifying shriek, somewhere between an owl's screech and a young girl's screaming. This had the desired effect it was looking for as the three opposing Skinwalkers immediately turned tail back into the forest. The Wendigo did not give chase after seeing them from the lake's frozen edge, but rather turned around to address the two Western nations.

_Are you two alright?_ A voice rang out in their minds, a soft melodic sound that must have been coming from the monster. There was something familiar about that feminine tone.

But all that Arthur could think was _bloody hell, it speaks_.

Matthew didn't seem fazed at all.

"Yeah, Kuma, we're fine. Thank you."

The Brit couldn't help but gape from Matthew to the monster and back to Matthew. "That…thing, that's Kuma? Like, your pet _bear_ Kuma?"

The younger blond smiled sheepishly, shifting from foot to foot. "I guess we have more things to talk about…"

* * *

Things were starting to get a bit freaky for England. Battles with other immortals, he could handle. Said immortals (including sons) being able to turn into animals, made some sort of sense. Finding out your son's pet bear was actually a monstrous creature that now occupied the back seat in the form of a very bored looking young woman…too much.

The Brit had been driving for an hour now, and it had been an hour filled with silence. Matthew seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, the motions of the vehicle lulling him to sleep. He was exhausted, mentally more than physically, so Arthur had insisted that he drive while the boy rested. It shouldn't be too difficult to get back to the city, considering the route was relatively straightforward minus a few turnoffs. Also, Matthew had a GPS.

England was unsure how to address and strike up a conversation with the…young lady in the back seat, and she seemed too uninterested in him to care. Eventually, she too had fallen asleep, leaving Arthur alone to plod through his thoughts.

Actually, he ended up zoning out. Driving tended make him concentrate solely on the road, which was actually highly useful when you had an excitable American flailing his arms around beside you. At least he didn't have to deal with that right now.

"Arthur," a groggy voice called from his right. Curse driving on the wrong side of the road.

"Yes, lad?"

Silence. Arthur wondered whether the boy had fallen back asleep, or whether he'd just been sleep-talking. He was about to peel his eyes off the road for a second, when the voice piped up again.

"I need to pee."

A glare graced the Englishman's features, and would have made an effective silencer had he been looking at Matthew. "You should have gone before we left."

"I diiiiiid," the Canadian whined.

"Well, then you shouldn't have gotten a large double double!"

"But I need caffeine."

"You have no one to blame but yourself, Matthew. Now you're just going to have to wait until we reach a gas station."

"Just pull over," Matthew suggested logically. He wasn't sure he could make it another half hour. Arthur seemed to be having none of it.

"I am not stopping the bloody car in the middle of bloody nowhere at this bloody time at night. You can wait a bit longer." By the Canadian's enduring silence, England was sure he was pouting. "Might as well tell me about Kumajirou to keep your mind off it."

Canada narrowed his eyes at the unrelenting (and slightly scheming) Brit, but his gaze softened and became sad when he began the tale. "Kuma is a Wendigo. In Native mythology-"

"I know about the stories, lad."

"Well, they aren't completely right. The Wendigos were once a powerful, but small tribe of manitous. No one knows where they came from, or how they came to be, though it's believed that they were born from the malevolence of humans. For the most part, they were monsters, and though they regulated their activities and killed only out of necessity, they couldn't deny their nature fully. Eventually, out of prejudice more than anything, the Skinwalkers started a war against them, resulting in their extinction." He paused here to look back at the sleeping Kumajirou. "She's the last of her kind, Arthur. We searched for centuries to find others, but my brothers and sisters were far too adept, and the laws of nature too constricting on Wendigos. The only thing that's keeping her from killing us both is me." Matthew shifted to face forward once more. "The war started not long before you and Francis arrived, a couple decades maybe. While the other Skinwalkers hunted down the Wendigos, I was left on my own. Fleeing the Skinwalkers, Kuma found me one night, and we made a deal: I'd protect her, if she'd protect me. The bond we share makes her just human enough to resist her urges."

Arthur mulled this over before commenting. "And does the bond make you more of a monster?" As if to confirm such a thing, the younger blond turned to face out of the passenger side window. "I'm not blind, Matthew, I know how you get on the battlefield."

The Canadian didn't seem to want to respond to that question in particular, so Arthur slowed down the vehicle to give him a little incentive. "Yes, there's a bit of a two-way connection going on. But it's under control, Arthur. You don't need to worry."

"I think it's a bit late for that," England murmured, speeding up the car once more. He couldn't get the memories out of his head: of a young Matthew laughing, framed by flames; of a Matthew standing with arms wide open, belting out 'God Save the King' as bullets ripped past and through him; of his son cradling the massacred body of a young, too young, German soldier, one of many slain by him in the old farmhouse. Arthur had simply labelled it as stress relief at the time. In times of war, Nations were just as united as they were divided. He himself had been brought to that tipping point with Spain some time ago, beating the other nation with his bare fists until they were both covered in Spanish blood (in retrospect, the British nation felt a bit bad for it).

But Arthur had never really considered Matthew might be a murderous time bomb. It was a little disconcerting.

"You do realise that no matter how valiant, no matter how good your intentions were, it was rather careless of you to make such a pact. Nations are powerful on their own without supernatural interference."

"And just what was I supposed to do, Arthur?" the young Nation bit back venomously. "Leave her to die? I might as well have killed her myself had that happened. What would you have me do now? Unleash a killer on my people?" He snorted. "You're no different than the rest of them if all that bothers you is the 'unnaturalness' of two members of enemy societies co-existing in peace. Drive faster; I still gotta take a piss." With that, the Canadian made a show of crossing his arms, propping a leg up on the dashboard, and pretending to sleep.

Many decades ago, England would have snapped at the boy's rude behaviour; but he was not the same empire he used to be, and there were matters of sovereignty to consider. Perhaps the lad's anger was well-deserved. There was, after all, a group of people he'd once considered family out there trying to kill him, as well as widespread global concerns for the international economy, and the world system. And now his father figure was nagging at him for making dangerous choices that had ultimately led to his self-preservation, at least until now. Not to mention he hadn't given Matthew any credit for his compassion towards an otherwise undesirable creature.

_My poor boy_, the Brit thought, briefly glancing at the now actually sleeping figure in the passenger seat. _Why didn't you ask for help earlier?_

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Wendigo: The myth of the Wendigo comes from the Algonquian-speaking peoples of the northern U.S.A. and Canada. Though each tribe had their own tales, the Wendigo is often depicted as an evil, cannibalistic Manitou (or spirit). The Wendigo has many different forms depending on the tribe's telling: a creature able to shape shift into different animals, a skeletal human, an invisible being with no form of its own. Sometimes the spirit will possess the body of a human, and other times a malevolent human will transform into a Wendigo. The Wendigo can represent many things as well. Due to its cannibalistic nature, the Wendigo is often associated with gluttony and greed: no matter how much it consumes, it is constantly hungry and searching for more prey. Likewise, it has been associated with famine, winter, the cold, and even the North itself. (This story will dramatically run this definition off course, but it's good to know the truth before I mess it up.)

A Note From Blaklite: I apologize if this chapter seems a bit like filler. I was rather stuck on how to explain Kuma's story. Many, many thanks to xXMeitanteiKuroChiXx for reminding me that the show must go on (even if you secretly hate how this chapter turned out). And if you think Canadian drivers are sane, clearly you've never driven in Ottawa.


End file.
